CHAPTER XXIII. But his grief was of short duration. “I love this warm end of summer more than words can tell,” he said. Mary Remenham had passed on her every feature to the daughter whose advent had taken her from this world. ‘As Madame Valade, you will be an émigré, not a nun. ” She groaned aloud and bowed her forehead to her knees. " "Then it was not a dream!" ejaculated Sir Rowland in a hollow voice, and as if speaking to himself.
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