Part 2 When at last she did so, the sapphire ring took on a new quality in the imagination of Capes. CHAPTER XVII. 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. Their conversation became stilted. Capes saw her, felt for her, cared for her greatly, even if he did not love her. Corbet Kynaston, then? Sir John Packington's courier was here yesterday.
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