She drifted back into the welcoming arms of sleep, feeling herself surrounded in silk. She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue. ’ She sighed relief to see a faint grin as he ventured to raise his head. Let us proceed with our tale. A little Madeira seemed to recover her enough to resume the discussion. On approaching the couch, they found Sir Rowland senseless, and extended over the dead body of his unfortunate sister. The young man's imagination suddenly pictured the man as a rock, loosed from its ancient bed, crumbling as it fell. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered.
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