F. CHAPTER XXII. They had scarcely gained the adjoining cellar when Jonathan and the Jew rushed past in the direction of the vault. For the first time he seemed to wonder what it might be that she had to confess. Stanley, “Mr. Me—I’m nothing but a country wench, and one who went to the bad. Montague Hill do not interest me in the least. If he took a fancy to you, he invited you to the house for tea, bitter and yellow and served in little cups without handles. Left alone, Jonathan lighted a lamp, and, opening the trap-door, descended the secret stairs. She said it audibly, having learned long since that an audible prayer was a concentrated one.
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