Or cry out the word in an amphitheatre of Alpine crags,--it sounds at home.
She is a daughter of the mountains,--should never have left them.

She is also a daughter of the Old Buccaneer--no poor specimen of the fighting Englishman of his day.

According to Rose Mackrell, he, this Old Buccaneer, it was, who, by strange adventures, brought the great Welsh mines into the family! He would not be ashamed in spying through his nautical glass, up or down, at his daughter's doings.

She has not yet developed a taste for the mother's tricks:--the mother, said to have been a kindler.

That Countess of Cressett was a romantic little fly-away bird.