"He must be somewhere hereabouts," cried one of the horsemen, dismounting. He'll be able to help us a little now. Niece and aunt regarded each other for a moment over their pockethandkerchiefs with watery but antagonistic eyes, each far too profoundly moved to see the absurdity of the position. "I am here, you see," said the smith. Figg?" asked Gay. But such was the violence of his grief,—such the compunction he exhibited, that all but one looked on with an eye of compassion.
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