She rapped again, louder. Sheppard heaved a deep sigh, and opened her eyes, which now looked larger, blacker, and more melancholy than ever. “I do hope that I shall be able to make it up to you. " "My death will lie at your door," remarked Jackson to the carpenter. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. Clearing the recess the instant after his companion, he flew to the door of the inner room, and, locking it, took out the key.
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