“Dear old Daddy,” she said, “he’ll make a fearful fuss. "She has flown up stairs," replied the widow. “Do you mean, aunt,” she asked, “that my father thought I had gone off—with some man?” “What else COULD he think? Would any one DREAM you would be so mad as to go off alone?” “After—after what had happened the night before?” “Oh, why raise up old scores? If you could see him this morning, his poor face as white as a sheet and all cut about with shaving! He was for coming up by the very first train and looking for you, but I said to him, ‘Wait for the letters,’ and there, sure enough, was yours. Leonardo was to me perhaps like a father, not a lover as you think. One of them was a stout square-built man, with a singularly swarthy complexion, and harsh forbidding features. Maybe half a year, counting this summer. Presently he resumed: “I believe I must be in love. Mrs. " "A child!" thought Wood; it must be the fugitive Darrell.
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