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The cultivation of tobacco soon spread from John Rolfe's garden to every available plot of ground within the fortified districts in Jamestown. By 1617 the value of tobacco was well known in every settlement or plantation in Virginia Bermuda, Dale's Gift, Henrico, Jamestown, Kecoughtan, and West and Shirley Hundreds each under a commander.
"We should not be surprised," wrote the editor virulently, "to discover at the bottom of these abominable atrocities that the guiding spirit, in fact, was the Gray Seal they are quite worthy even of his diabolical disregard for the laws of God and man." Jimmie Dale's lips straightened ominously, and an angry glint crept into his dark, steady eyes.
"I do, very much indeed," Stone quickly arose. "Well, I reckon you can have what you want of mine." The doctor took up the lamp and held it close to Dale's face. "Drink?" he asked. "Never have yet." Ignoring the presence of Aunt Timmie, he put a few more intimate questions, and a look of gratification crossed his face when the mountaineer had fully answered. "You'll do," he whispered hopefully.
But, to tell you a secret, only it must be a secret; you must not mention it at Guestwick Manor; even Bell does not know; we have half made up our minds to unpack all our things and stay where we are." Eames was so intent on his own purpose, and so fully occupied with the difficulty of the task before him, that he could hardly receive Mrs Dale's tidings with all the interest which they deserved.
Below stairs was a pseudo tea-merchant's store kept by a Chinese "hatchet" man. But Lang Chang had not been in evidence when he, Jimmie Dale, had crept up the stairs, for there had been no light in the store windows. And now Jimmie Dale's flashlight was playing around the room. Halfpast one, she had said. It could not be more than one o'clock as yet There was ample time to search for the bonds.
But she had no eyes for anything except her husband, and no other thought than of the horrible peril in which he was placing himself. Four men clung to the bottom of the ladder, and yet, with Dale's weight half-way up to help them, could not for a moment keep it steady.
Its fountainhead must have been a great well rushing up through the cold stone. Helen and Bo lay flat on a mossy bank, seeing their faces as they bent over, and they sipped a mouthful, by Dale's advice, and because they were so hot and parched and burning they wanted to tarry a moment with a precious opportunity.
"No, I shouldn't," said Mark, repressing an inclination to cry, so much mortified was he by Cass Dale's contemptuous tone. "All the same," Cass went on. "It don't do to play around with badgers. There was a chap over to Lanbaddern who was chased right across the Rose one evening by seven badgers. He was in a muck of sweat when he got home. But one old badger isn't nothing."
The name of the lady was Miss Lily Dale, and the name of the well-to-do cousin was Mr John Eames. At the present moment Miss Dale was at home with her mother at Allington, and Grace Crawley in her terrible sorrow wrote to her friend, pouring out her whole heart. As Grace's letter and Miss Dale's answer will assist us in our story, I will venture to give them both. SILVERBRIDGE, December, 186
The conversation above recorded took place on the day after Mr. Larkspur's interview with Honoria. Three days afterwards, Reginald Eversleigh and his cousin met at the club, for the purpose of going together to inspect the hunters on sale at Mr. Spavin's repository, in the Brompton Road. Dale's mail-phaeton was waiting before the door of the club, and he drove his cousin down to the repository.
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