"A mother's prayers—a mother's blessings," she cried, with the fervour almost of inspiration, "will avail against a fiend's malice. "Give me till to-morrow," implored she, "and if I can bring myself to part with him, you shall have him without another word. "Here I am, Captain," cried a voice from without. Sometimes the music would be tender and dreamy, like a native mother's crooning to her young; sometimes it would be so gay that the flesh tingled and the feet were urged to dance; again, it would be like the storms crashing, thunderous. I don't know; I really don't know," she found herself repeating. The Return. But first, we’ve got to secure the convent.
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