Presently she saw Spurlock on the way to the lagoon. “MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. “It does not appear to me,” he said, stiffly, “to be an affair for jests. Which means after all that she did not expect to marry Valade. Your purpose is done.
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