" "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. She had first picked up the fiddle back when it was still called a viol, that was how long she had been at it. Proceeding along the wall, Jack reached the southern tower, over the battlements of which he clambered, and crossing it, dropped upon the roof of the gate. Wild had a narrow escape lately, in that affair of Captain Darrell," observed Shotbolt.
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