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A bright rooreat wide bed with

carved posts and embroidered canopy; between the curtained

s, a tall oak press with grotesque heads carved thereon,

heads that leered and gaped and scowled at me But the bed and

the roorotesque

heads had leered and gaped and frowned at ht

And now I lay between sleeping and waking, staring dreamily at

all these things, till roused by a voice near by, and starting

up, broad awake, beheld Sir Richard

"Deuce take you, Peter!" he exclaimed; "I say--the devil fly away

with you, my boy!--curse me!--a nice pickle you've made of

yourself, with your infernal Revolutionary notions--your digging

and blacks-tours--"

"Where is she, Sir Richard?" I broke in; "pray, where is she?"

"She?" he returned, scratching his chin with the corner of a

letter he held; "she?"

"She whoht, and the night before"

"Asleep?--then how long have I been here?"

"Three days, Peter"

"And where is she--surely I have not dreamed it all--where is

Char"

"Gone!--where to?"