CHAPTER XVIII. ” “As you will, dear lover. The light was poor, so that she saw their gleaming faces dimly and indistinctly. 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. She began to miss him when he was gone during the day and cherish the quiet times he spent only with her. “But I am sorry,” she exclaimed.
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