"First take the child," cried Darrell, holding up the infant, and clinging to the oar with a dying effort. She bound a scarf tightly round the place where the blood seemed to be coming from. "My child! my child!" exclaimed Mrs. Her heart was beating with quite unaccustomed vigour, her hands were hot, she was conscious of a warmth in her blood which the summer sunshine was scarcely responsible for. " "I'd good reasons for placing it there, Sir; but don't question me about them now, or you'll drive me mad," returned Mrs.
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