’ Fire enveloped Charvill’s mind and he brought up his cane, pointed like a musket. " "I'll bring you an armful this afternoon. And now tell me what has happened to my poor mother?" "Ever since your last capture, and Thames's mysterious disappearance, she has been dreadfully ill," replied Winifred; "so ill, that each day was expected to be her last. Fly! fly!" "Do not think of me, mother, but of yourself," cried Jack, in an agony of tears. The wish was vain: and, endeavouring to banish every earthly thought, he addressed himself deeply and sincerely to prayer. How she had hated it!… All these mumblings which were never explained, which carried no more sense to her brain than they would have carried to Old Morgan's swearing parrot.
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