My uncle has already spoken words of comfort, but neither you nor he know more than I do, and I must now think a little for myself, if I can." So saying, she walked out into the grounds to a spot at a little distance where Dickory stood, reflectively gazing out over the landscape.
"Dickory," said the girl, "my mind is filled with horrible doubts.

I have heard of the talk in Bridgetown before we left, and now here is this letter from Mr.Newcombe from which I cannot fail to see that there must have been other talk that he considerately refrains from telling me." "He should not have written such a letter," exclaimed Dickory hotly; "he might have known it would have set you to suspecting things." "You don't know what you are talking about, you foolish boy," said she; "it is a very proper letter about things you don't understand." She stepped a little closer to him as if she feared some one might hear her.

"Dickory," said she, "he did not put that thing into my mind; it was there already.

That was a dreadful ship, Dickory, and it was filled with dreadful men.

If he had not intended to go with them he would not have put himself into their power, and if he had not intended to be long away he would not have planned to leave me here with my uncle." "You ought not to think such a thing as that for one minute," cried Dickory.