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Bacheller, Irving, 1859-1950

"Darrel of the Blessed Isles"

"
A serious look came into the eyes of Polly.
"You are looking for Louis Leblanc," she whispered.
"Yes; it is the first move in a plan to free Darrel, for I am sure
that Leblanc committed the crime. I shall know soon after I meet
him."
"How?"
"If he should have a certain mark on the back of his left hand and
were to satisfy me in two other details, I'd give my life to one
purpose,--that of making him confess. God help me! I cannot find
the man. But I shall not give up; I shall go and see the Governor."
Turning her face away and looking out of the window, she felt for
his hand. Then she pressed it fondly. That was the giving of all
sacred things forever, and he knew it. He was the same Sidney
Trove, but never until that day had she seen the full height of his
noble manhood, ever holding above its own the happiness of them it
loved. Suddenly her heart was full with thinking of the power and
beauty of it.
"I do love you, Polly," said Trove, at length. "I've answered your
queries,--all of them,--and now it's my turn. If we were at
Robin's Inn, I should put my arms about you, and I should not let
you go until--until you had promised to be my wife."
"And I should not promise for at least an hour," said she, smiling,
as she turned, her dark eyes full of their new discovery.


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