Her lover, Darrell, has embarked upon the Thames, where, if he's not capsized by the squall, (for it's blowing like the devil,) he stands a good chance of getting his throat cut by his pursuers—ha! ha! I tracked 'em to the banks of the river, and should have followed to see it out, if the watermen hadn't refused to take me. Hilary Roding was all soldier now, his earlier grievances laid aside. —'It's all up with us,' says he; 'they've taken away our charter.
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