On this fresh outburst of the storm, Wood threw himself instinctively into the bottom of the boat, and clasping the little orphan to his breast, endeavoured to prepare himself to meet his fate. Stanley, produced a portrait from its hiding-place in the jewel-drawer under the mirror. The contest, however, though desperate, was brief. "Sir Rowland must be gone. ‘Besides, I don’t want the men blundering in here and frightening off our spy. Spurlock then?" "I imagine that Mr.
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