With a drawn cutlass in one hand and a cocked pistol in the other, Blueskin rushed up stairs. "Ah!" exclaimed Lady Trafford, exerting all her strength. Will you find your destiny, I wonder, or will you go through life like so many others—a wanderer, knocking ever at empty doors, homeless to the last? Oh, if one could but find the way to your heart. There is not a soul in the inn but ourselves.
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