He was roused from the stupor of despair into which he had sunk by the voice of Ben, who roared in his ear, "The bridge!—the bridge!" CHAPTER VII. "Your mother is dead," interposed Wild, scowling. Following his guide, Sir Rowland found himself in a large and lofty apartment, the extent of which he could not entirely discern until lights were set upon the table. She was wearing a becoming tea-gown, and it was quite certain that Sir John would not be home for several hours at least.
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