She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish. She hesitated in answering the door, her violin still crooked underneath her chin. "Mother! dear mother!" cried Jack, folding her to his breast. Emerging from this aperture, he was about to descend, when he was alarmed by hearing the tramp of horses' feet swiftly approaching, and had only time to hide himself behind one of the largest signboards before alluded to when two horsemen rode up. There was enough contra-light to render her ethereal.
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