’ Before she could object, Melusine found herself hustled back into the house and dragged willy-nilly towards the library door, where Jack called softly. "Bolt the wicket!" shouted Ireton, who, with the others, had been not a little entertained by the gallant turnkey's discomfiture. The affair was thick with sinister suggestions. He was not there. Her hair got loose, her hat came over one eye, and she had no arm free to replace it. "Och! he's a broth of a boy!" "Why, I thought he'd broken your head, Terry?" "Phooh! that's nothing? A piece o' plaster'll set all to rights; and Terry O'Flaherty's not the boy to care for the stroke of a supple-jack. That was one of the compensations for having consigned himself to this part of the world. It was the first—and the last! At this juncture, the handle of the door was tried, and the voice of Mr. ’ Such simple faith touched Gerald.
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