"Mother! dear mother!" cried Jack, folding her to his breast. The contest was now carried on between Rowland and Darrell. There has never been a white woman at McClintock's. " "Ah!" exclaimed Sir Rowland, glancing significantly at Charcam, who was a confidant in his Jacobite schemes; "is it the messenger from Orchard-Windham, from Sir William?" "No, Sir Rowland.
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