They were those of the Irish watchman. She did not remember him, but he said that he had introduced himself to her when she was visiting the butcher's family. Hastening to the spot where he had tied his horse to a tree, he vaulted into the saddle, and rode off across the fields,—for he was fearful of encountering the hostile party,—till he reached the Edgeware Road. Her parents left two weeks later, the weather still fine. Little did I imagine at the time that it was my own father to whom he referred.
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