Accompanied by Sir Cecil, who still continued passionately enamoured of his sister, and to whom he represented that she had fallen a victim to the arts of a seducer, he set off, at fiery speed, for the metropolis. Mounting the door he had last opened, he placed his hands on the wall above, and quickly drew himself up. From the slight sounds that had reached him in his place of confinement, he was aware that some persons had found their way to the scene of slaughter, and in a state of the most intense anxiety awaited the result of their investigation, prepared for the worst. Great sport, eh? To haul them back from the ragged edge. “Lady Ferringhall, sir. " "It was her own fault," observed Blueskin, moodily.
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