207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name. A bumper round, gentlemen. She wanted his attention, but so did everyone else. Her lover, Darrell, has embarked upon the Thames, where, if he's not capsized by the squall, (for it's blowing like the devil,) he stands a good chance of getting his throat cut by his pursuers—ha! ha! I tracked 'em to the banks of the river, and should have followed to see it out, if the watermen hadn't refused to take me. Her mother missed writing for a week, and then she wrote in an unusual key. Down on me luck, I was, and they took me in. The thought of you, wandering from pillar to post, believing yourself hunted—it tore my old heart to pieces! For I knew you. ” She felt, with a sudden horror, that she might weep. ’ ‘I have found Mary Remenham’s daughter,’ he repeated.
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