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Mr. Ringold fairly gasped. "Oh, the thankless, misguided wretches!" he exclaimed. "And to think that we were foolish enough to feel that we hadn't treated 'em with Christian kindness. Did you hear 'em say what time they was comin', boy?" Mr Lawrence made a step and quickly picked up the knife and drew back again, conscious that the fixed gaze will often awake a slumberer even from deep repose. He stood close to the door viewing this picture of a sleeping girl in a ship's little cabin irradiated by a dim light, whose motions, with the rolling and the pitching of the ship, filled the darkling interior with a hundred dancing spectres. His marine ear would take no heed of the voices of the ship in that cabin, the groans and murmurs, the low whistlings and rusty strainings. This was a concert which his seasoned sense of hearing must miss or overlook in his perception of the picture he viewed. "But will Mr Lawrence make for Rio," said Captain Weaver, "when he understands by the Aurora chasing that you have found out his port of destination?".

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Mr Lawrence repeated his first question. "Well, I'll take a chance, Bill." "That's what will happen!" cried Miss Acton. "Would our sailors permit a stranger like Mr Lawrence to steal your daughter and your ship and what is in her, and be dismissed from your service by him at Rio Janeiro with promises of your paying them treble wages when they got home, and applied to you? Oh no, no, no!" "What's gone?" asked his companions in a breath..