“Now listen. They returned to the castle, neither of them speaking. You're rich. Down on your marrow-bones, sirrah! Confess your guilt, and Sir Rowland may yet save you from the gallows. "But if it is thy will to take me from him," she continued, as soon as her emotion permitted her,—"if he must be left an orphan amid strangers, implant, I beseech thee, a mother's feelings in some other bosom, and raise up a friend, who shall be to him what I would have been. ” He stood before her, his hat in his hand, his head bent, his voice lowered to a convenient pitch. She met his eyes for a moment, and could not interpret their expression.
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