‘And certainly I wish that Joan will come with us. She had mentioned the address where she and her sister had lived. Austin could scarcely credit his senses when he beheld him. His name is carved upon a beam up stairs. She passed inside and upstairs without a word. “A thick-set, coarse-looking young man, Anna!” she exclaimed in a hoarse excited whisper. The bridge was open. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. In the midst of the holy place, which he had formerly profaned, lay the body of his unfortunate mother, and he could not help looking upon her untimely end as the retributive vengeance of Heaven for the crime he had committed.
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