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`Steady, sir!' proceeded Betteredge. `I mean what I say. Rosanna Spearman left a sealed letter behind her--a letter addressed to you.' `Where is it?' `In the possession of a friend of hers, at Cobb's Hole. You must have heard tell, when you were here last, sir, of Limping Lucy--a lame girl with a crutch.' `The fisherman's daughter?' `The same, Mr. Franklin.' `Why wasn't the letter forwarded to me?' `Limping Lucy has a will of her own, sir. She wouldn't give it into any hands but yours. And you had left England before I could write to you.' `Let's go back, Betteredge, and get it at once!' `Too late, sir, to-night. They're great savers of candles along our coast; and they go to bed early at Cobb's Hole.' `Nonsense! We might get there in half an hour.' `You might, sir. And when you did get there, you would find the door locked.' He pointed to a light, glimmering below us; and, at the same moment, I heard through the stillness of the evening the bubbling of a stream. `There's the Farm, Mr. Franklin! Make yourself comfortable for to-night, and come to me to-morrow morning--if you'll be so kind?' `You will go with me to the fisherman's cottage?' `Yes, sir.' `Early?' `As early, Mr. Franklin, as you like.' We descended the path that led to the Farm. |
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