And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. "Well, lad, supposing you read what the editor has to say?" was McClintock's suggestion, when the frolic was over. It was she! The Dawn Pearl! He vaulted the veranda rail, careless now whether or not he was heard, and ran down to the beach. There was an eerie sense of brooding menace about an uninhabited establishment.
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