At the back of the house, on a bank, rose an old-fashioned terrace-garden, full of apple-trees and other fruittrees in blossom, and lively with the delicious verdure of early spring. “I love you, I always will. . ’ ‘That we shall see. "Ah! traitor!" cried Jack, pulling the trigger of his pistol. "And yet, he has been spared thus long; perhaps with a wise purpose," rejoined Thames. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. “I am sure you will marry Nigel sooner or later, and then all your work will be thrown away. For a time she promenaded the room.
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