A little smothered cry broke from her lips—the curtains were thrown aside and a man stepped out. The evenings were beginning to draw out, and it would not be dark for an hour. But perhaps he was right not to tell you the truth. No tricks would serve. With this view, he hurried to the spot where he had left the post-chaise, and found it drawn up at the road-side, the postilion dismounted, and in charge of a couple of farming-men.
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