"Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom. The whole of that relationship persisted in remaining obscure. She was too late. At one moment, it seemed as if the flying bark was about to put to shore. It was enough that she witnessed it and could not go to him. Spurlock lay with his head on his arms, asleep. “Not home yet, miss,” the young man replied. But that possibility had been anticipated.
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