But at length, there was a click, and with a swish, the panel of painted books swung outward from the wall. Jonathan caught her in his arms. ‘Fiddle, Gerald. McClintock, without comment, accepted the hand. "What do you think of your nephew, Sir Rowland?" whispered Jonathan, who sat with his back towards Thames, so that his features were concealed from the youth's view. "And now," cried Jack, leaping up, "for an achievement, compared with which all I have yet done shall be as nothing!" CHAPTER XVII.
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