They tracked the fugitive to the Mint; but, like hounds at fault, they here lost all scent of their prey. His horse, which had apparently gone to sleep, preferred to remain where he was. " "No more of this," said Winifred, angrily. Who's the lucky boy, Lucy?\" Lucy looked at her slippered feet. All she had found was the love of this dog. A feeling of inexplicable awe crept over the carpenter as the sounds died away.
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