He left the room, presumably to sleep elsewhere, but the only other room with a fire was the servant’s quarters. He was chained to the ground, but started up at their approach. She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue. Black blood and white bone flew into the corners of the crypt, slathering the dead faces of the corpses left piled in the corner. Passing at a glance over the whole of the intervening period; leaving in the words of the poet, —The growth untried Of that wide gap— we shall resume our narrative at the beginning of June, 1715.
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