They were those of the Irish watchman. "Help—I'll hold him!" "Leave her," cried Jack, darting down stairs, amid a furious ringing of bells, —"the house is alarmed,—follow me!" "Curses light on you!" cried Blueskin, savagely; "since you won't be advised, take your fate. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain.
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