Frederick Marryat,
The Poacher; Or, Joseph Rushbrook
“ Our hero made no reply; he bowed, and was led back to his place of confinement, and in a few minutes afterwards the arms of the weeping Mary were encircled round his neck.“You don’t blame me, Mary?” said Joey.“No, no,” sobbed Mary; “all that the world can do is nothing when we are innocent.”“I shall soon be far from here, Mary,” said Joey, sitting down on the bedstead; “but, thank Heaven! it is over.”The form of Emma Phillips rose up in our hero’s imagination, and he covered up his face with his hands.“Had it not been for her!” thought he. “What must she think of me! a convicted felon! ”
