“MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. She sought hastily in her mind for a plausible answer to an obvious question that didn’t come. ’ They passed through a little antechamber, and Melusine sighed with relief as she entered the library next door. " "I see through your design, Jack," returned the carpenter, gravely; "but I don't like under-hand work.
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