"
"When I woke to consciousness, I was lying in a rude cottage, and two
persons, unknown to me--a man and a woman--were bending over me, applying
hot flannels to my numbed limbs, and restoratives to my lips. Before
morning my child was born; but it never opened its eyes on this world.
Death took it away. I had some articles of jewelry on my person, of some
considerable value, and with these I bribed the persons who had taken me
from the river to cause Mr. Linmere to believe that I had died. They were
rough people, but they were kind-hearted, and I owe them a large debt of
gratitude for their thoughtful care of me. But for it, I should have died
in reality. As soon as I was able to bear the journey, I left France.
Linmere had already closed the cottage and gone away--none knew whither;
but I was satisfied he had departed for the United States. I left France
with no feeling of regret, save for Leo, my faithful hound. I have shed
many bitter tears, when pondering over the probable fate of my poor dog."
"Be easy on that subject, Arabel. I saw the hound but a few weeks ago. He
is the property of a lady who loves him--the woman Paul Linmere was to
have married, if he had lived."
"I am glad. You may laugh at me, Louis, but the uncertain fate of Leo
has given me great unhappiness.
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