CHAPTER XIX. At length, about three o'clock, as the first glimmer of dawn became visible
through the barred casements of the round-house, the rattling of bolts and chains
at the outer door told that some one was admitted. “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. "I had no hand in the affair," replied Jackson, bluntly; "but I know those who
had; and could bring forward evidence, if you require it. ”
“I don’t care. A woman has a perfect right to
choose her own husband, but Nigel seemed to think that there was something a
little mysterious about your treatment of him. She’s
already spoken for. "This suspense is worse than torture. Jackson smiled and put on the air of a man who knows more than he cares to tell. What duty does a girl owe to any one before her father? Obedience to
him, that is surely the first law. “Annabel?” he exclaimed. "Never mind," replied the tapstress.
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