Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. He measured out the portion of another peg, the bottle wavering in his hand. He trembled, not from any superstitious dread, but from an undefined sense of approaching danger. "Shotbolt! by—" cried Austin, as the captive was dragged forth. With one or two exceptions, there were no pews; and, as the intercourse with London was then but slight, the seats were occupied almost exclusively by the villagers.
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