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the invalid.

"I have been making some inquiries about you," said Mr. Witherden,
"little thinking that I should find you under such circumstances as
those which have brought us together. You are the nephew of Rebecca
Swiveller, spinster, deceased, of Cheselbourne, in Dorsetshire."

"Deceased!" cried Dick.

"Deceased. And by the terms of her will, you have fallen into an annuity
of one hundred and fifty pounds a year; I think I may congratulate you
upon that."

"Sir," said Dick, sobbing and laughing together, "you may. For, please
God, we'll make a scholar of the poor Marchioness yet. And she shall
walk in silk attire, and siller have to spare, or may I never rise from


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