We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage. Hope you ate light before you got here. It's fortunate we've no more Jack Sheppards, or I should stand but a poor chance. Thinking of Mantua, she wandered to the courtyard. Yet she took with her an uneasy consciousness that in this affair might lie the germs of future trouble. "Yes; he'll suspect nothing.
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