‘That’s why I’m asking. It was a night of storm and terror, which promised each moment to become more stormy and more terrible. "Not so, Sir Rowland," returned Jonathan; "you are my prisoner. She lifted her shoulders in an eloquent shrug. What gave the puzzling twist to an ordinary situation was her manner: she was guileless. I am clear I want you. She had been sitting on the bench for two and a half hours, which was uneventful except for the homeless men who begged for change. At length, about an hour before dawn on the second day—Sunday—having spent the early part of the night in watching at the gates of the robbers' sanctuary, and being almost exhausted from want of rest, she set out homewards. Here's a nosegay for you, my love," she continued, opening her basket, and presenting a fragrant bunch of flowers to Winifred, "if your mother will allow me to give it you. One chance in a thousand, and that would be the girl.
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