A hazy face appeared through the fog of sleep, pale and thin and looming. "Vell," he growled, addressing Quilt, "you know who's here, I suppose?" "To be sure I do," replied Quilt; "my noble friend, the Marquis of Slaughterford. Wood chanced to be murdered by Blueskin, the fellow who just left the room, on the very night of his return, as it has thrown the house into such confusion, and so distracted them, that he has had no time as yet for hostile movements. I fancy that Sir John does not approve of me. I've already told you I'm about to take a long journey, and it's more than probable I shall never return. From this perturbed state he was roused by thoughts of his mother, and fancying he heard her gentle voice urging him on to fresh exertion, he started up. His vicious abusiveness vanished. Lucy looked at her reflection with a measure of awe.
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