‘I thought it was his great-nephew, young Brewis Charvill, who is his heir. But this was but a momentary gleam of personal application, and at this time she followed it up no further. . That he had resolved upon its execution, whatever it might be, was evident from his saying aloud,— "I will do it. His reputation was slightly tainted by his marriage to her mother, an exotic blue-eyed raven-haired beauty, a Gypsy doll with a clandestine heritage. The land about these walls is a common graveyard. She climbed back into the window an hour before sunrise. Poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!" Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,—deathlike and deep. “And by what right do you do anything of the sort?” “No right at all,” he admitted.
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