“As she asked!” “It is already too late. “I’m sorry! Mary! Are you hurt?” “No. “But why, Lucy? Who is it 145 that you are trying to hide from? John?” Lucy closed her eyes in earnest. Passing at a glance over the whole of the intervening period; leaving in the words of the poet, —The growth untried Of that wide gap— we shall resume our narrative at the beginning of June, 1715. But Blueskin found it impossible to make off,—at least with the spoil,—Mrs. Wanted a clean sweep for elbowroom. “Your mother was a Gypsy.
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