Besides, she had admitted her identity. “But you yourself,” she exclaimed, glancing into his face, “you too look tired. She and Courtlaw drove homewards together. I proceeded to Manchester, to investigate the matter further, and when there ascertained, beyond a doubt, that you were the eldest daughter of Sir Montacute Trenchard. But he might have broken out of prison, and yet not got over the wall of Clerkenwell Bridewell. Twice she smiled, but not unkindly.
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