The major’s hand stilled. " "Traitor!" cried Sir Rowland—"damned—double-dyed traitor!" "Away with him," vociferated Jonathan to his myrmidons, who, having surrounded Trenchard, hurried him off to the coach before he could utter another word,—"first to Mr. "What weight are these irons?" asked Jonathan, coolly addressing one of the partners. Unless he deserts the girl, he won't be so hard to find as formerly.
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