A little within stood a second door, or rather wicket, lower than the first, but of equal strength, and surmounted by a row of sharp spikes. “You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?” she remarked. Wary they might be. In after years you can return to your own country—to your friends. Neither you nor your mother shall escape me. Liberates the girl from parental control. Wood laughed louder than ever. I deemed it more prudent to send him to the Dark House than to bring him here, in case of any search after him by his adoptive father—the carpenter Wood. Simply. They had changed identities absolutely. The primitive superstition of his Puritan forbears was his; and before this the buckler of his education disintegrated. But I dare not accept it.
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