Darrell stood erect in the bark, with his drawn sword in hand, prepared to repel the attack of his assailants, who, in their turn, seemed to await with impatience the moment which should deliver him into their power. It was wrenched away from Melusine’s clutching hands. The other lay unconscious in a heap. It did not matter in the least what name the young fellow was travelling under; all James Boyle O'Higgins wanted was the letter H. Michelle looked at her pathetically.
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