In another minute, the tramp of horses' feet told that the perpetrators of the outrage had effected their escape. And, though neither peace nor innocence can be restored to my bosom; though tears cannot blot out my offences, nor sorrow drown my shame; yet, knowing that my penitence is sincere, I do not despair that my transgressions may be forgiven. You can come back for these, for you’ll carry him to the gatehouse, that’s what you’ll do. "He is dying?" whispered Ruth. She donned her gloves. The night was now profoundly dark. You don’t want to miss the sport. "Is this Misther Wudd's, my pretty miss?" demanded the rough voice of the Irish watchman. There were two. Hogarth, before the jailer," replied Jack. He could not promise that she would ever appear again in that house. ‘Well said, my dear.
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