The young man's imagination suddenly pictured the man as a rock, loosed from its ancient bed, crumbling as it fell. "Oh, God! would you take him from me?— would you murder him?" "His father's name?—and he is free," rejoined Rowland, holding her arms. At last, he got into a lane, but had not proceeded far when he was again alarmed by the sound of a horse's tread. "Flight is still left me," replied Trenchard. "Since the sea has spared him, I will spare him.
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