"Is this Misther Wudd's, my pretty miss?" demanded the rough voice of the Irish watchman. The other individual, who was a little in advance, was concealed from the stranger's view. CHAPTER XXVII. She had intended to be quietly dignified, but he was in a smouldering rage from the beginning, and began by assuming, which alone was more than flesh and blood could stand, that the insurrection was over and that she was coming home submissively.
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