. . EPOCH THE FIRST, 1703. " "My father was of the blood-royal of France," exclaimed Thames. “Please play something for us,” Carol asked, her eyes aglow. The fact itself is regrettable enough—regrettable, I fear, is quite an inadequate word. Trees were torn up by the roots; many houses were levelled to the ground; others were unroofed; the leads on the churches were ripped off, and "shrivelled up like scrolls of parchment. Ennison himself, with the recollection of Annabel’s visit still fresh in his mind, was for a moment constrained and ill at ease. Spare me yet a little while, Father! not for my own sake, but for the sake of this poor babe. I know you’re young but I think I, no, I know that I love you.
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