"It is her child!" shrieked Rowland, in a voice heard above the howling of the tempest, "risen from this roaring abyss to torment me. What is done cannot be undone. ’ ‘Oh, this is becoming nonsensical,’ exclaimed Lucilla. There was no one at all in this room, but through the half-open door of one of the small apartments that gave upon it she had a glimpse of two very young girls sitting at a littered table and writing briskly. She could not say who, not yet. The cause of this uproar was soon manifest.
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