She felt that with Capes near to her she would be content always to go on loving. He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed. The effort of self-repression cost him a sob. “These are her rooms,” she said. ‘Oh, Jacques, I cannot forgive myself!’ ‘Never you fret, miss,’ he uttered at once in a faint voice. " "Get hence," continued Mrs.
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