She turned away from the doorway of the silk loom to observe. She chastised herself for thinking of her husband and lord as being weak. The latter were saved; but of the former nothing but the blackened stone walls were found standing on the morrow. Perhaps her odd beauty—and that too was natural—stirred these thoughts into being. This way, Sir Rowland. "I think I may trust him with you, Sir," added she, taking up the candle.
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