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As the tide still continued strong in her favour, and her motion through the water was getting to be four or five knots, there was every prospect of her soon reaching Whitestone, the point where the tides meet, and where it would become necessary to anchor; unless, indeed, the wind, which was now getting to the southward and eastward, should come round more to the south.

It seemed long years back since she had romped with him, a happy, merry child, over the cotton fields, and he had called her his sunbeam during all those years when no one lived at Whitestone Hall and the wild ivy climbed riotously over the windows and doors. Even Septima's voice would have sounded so sweet to her. She would have lived over again those happy, childish days, if she only could.

The Molly Swash was still under her canvas, though very little sufficed for her present purposes. She was directly off Whitestone, and was making easy stretches across the passage, or river, as it is called, having nothing set but her huge fore-and-aft mainsail and the jib.

"I regret this sad affair more than I can find words to express," said Basil Hurlhurst, gravely. "Mrs. Corliss's whole life almost has been spent at Whitestone Hall. You tell me, doctor, there is no hope. I can scarcely realize it." Every care and attention was shown her; but it was long hours before Mrs.

For a single instant the master of Whitestone Hall glanced into the detective's keen gray eyes for one ray of hope, as he silently grasped his extended hand. "I see we are alone," said Mr. Tudor, glancing hurriedly around the room "we three, I mean," he added. Suddenly Basil Hurlhurst thought of the young girl, quite hidden from view.

At this place, however, Tryon received orders to return to Whitestone where in a conference between Clinton and Sir George Collier it was determined to proceed against New London with an increased force.

We should have left Whitestone right away, but the wind had died out and there wasn't a capful of air stirring. Some of the members of the company expressed a desire to go ashore, but I objected. I had made up my mind to start with the first breath of wind that sprang up. To profitably employ our time we set to work to fish for our supper.

"No, you don't know what I mean; and little you thank me for carrying the treacherous secret since almost the hour of your birth. It is time for you to know the truth at last. You are not the heiress of Whitestone Hall you are not Basil Hurlhurst's child!" Pluma's face grew deathly white; a strange mist seemed gathering before her.

Tightening the strap of his game-bag over his shoulder, and readjusting his velvet cap jauntily over his brown curls, Rex was about to resume his journey in the direction of Whitestone Hall, when the sound of rapidly approaching carriage-wheels fell upon his ears.

In the din of the excitement, Pluma Hurlhurst shook the dust of Whitestone Hall forever from her feet, muttering maledictions at the happy occupants. She had taken good care to secure all the valuables that she could lay her hands on, which were quite a fortune in themselves, securing her from want for life. She was never heard from more.