Her hair touched water, becoming like the seaweed in its velvet slickness. On the envelope was written— Sydney Courtlaw, Esq. But the clearly definite thing was the ultimate escape. The youth produced a crumpled-up card from his waistcoat pocket. “You found the cabochon? After all these years?” He asked, incredulous. The Master of the Mint, with whom the Jacobite captain had often had transactions before, vouched for their being men of honour and loyalty; and Kneebone was so well satisfied with his representations, that he at once closed the matter by administering to the applicants the oath of allegiance and fidelity to King James the Third, and several other oaths besides, all of which those gentlemen took with as little hesitation as the sum of money, afterwards tendered, to make the compact binding. “Take my advice,” he said hoarsely. “No,” she answered, reluctantly.
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