"What's that?—Jack's voice!" "It is," replied her son. Completely overcome by fatigue, with strained muscles, and bruised hands; streaming with perspiration, and with lips so parched that he would gladly have parted with a treasure if he had possessed it for a draught of water; he sank against the wall, and while in this state was seized with, a sudden and strange alarm. “I’ll get dressed. How came you by the hurt, eh?" "How did I come by it?—that's a nate question. "Rowland," said Lady Trafford, regarding him with a look of indescribable anxiety, "you have assured me that I shall behold my son. ” She said with a tone of defiance.
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