‘Gerald Alderley, I don’t know what you deserve. Shotbolt, who had in some degree recovered from the effects of his previous mortification, was thrown into an ecstacy of delight, and could not sufficiently exult over the prisoner. ‘Don’t even think of it,’ warned Gerald, in the voice generally reserved for his men. At this moment, his quick ears detected the sound of footsteps on the stairs. ‘Nothing of the sort,’ argued Gerald. Anna sent her away. ” He paused and looked at her, and said, with a sudden drop into a confidential undertone, “Or else I want to pray. The ring's yours, and you're mine. I am too weak to aid you. The poor boy, whose hands were pinioned behind him, looked very pale, but neither trembled, nor exhibited any other symptom of alarm. A young man was playing the banjo.
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