"My heart," rejoined Thames, firmly; "which now tells me I am in the presence of his murderer. For the first time in her life she had heard music; the door to enchanted sounds had been flung wide. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. “Mary! What’s going on! Why are you crying?!” He commanded an answer in a worried and slightly irritated tone.
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