"Well, I will see him," replied the knight, after a moment's pause; "he may be from the Earl of Mar. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. "Set down the kid," roared Blueskin, savagely.
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