"My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. The opiate has done its duty. “Who took care of you after she died?” “My father. He was aroused from his slumber, about six o'clock, by the return of Abraham Mendez, who not choosing to confess that Jack had eluded his vigilance, contended himself with stating that he had kept watch till daybreak, when he had carefully searched the field, and, finding no trace of him, had thought it better to return. And with a hideous expression of pain, he fainted. “I suppose he’s frightfully clever,” said Miss Klegg. She was supposed to be lifeless; but she survived the accident, though she never regained her strength. There was nothing to replace the all important letter from her father.
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