Wood's favourite sitting-room, and her image was so intimately associated with it, neither the carpenter nor his daughter could muster courage to enter it before. She was not afraid exactly, but there was that about her loneliness to-night she distrusted. " "Sir Rowland is dead," replied Jonathan, gloomily. He was in misery; he was paying for last night's debauch. Never! Perhaps some day, quite soon, she might regret that breakfast-room.
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