Mr. Soot was everywhere, for the lamp would not stay trimmed in the gale. ‘There’s a surgeon on his way, and my men are under orders to do whatever is needful. She was shifting, moving back. He might miss at this distance. Arrived there, the porter thundered at the massive door of the Lodge, which was instantly opened—Shotbolt's note having been received just before. Standing before a mirror set on a dresser between the windows, two hands frozen in the act of adjusting a wide-brimmed hat on her head, stood a lady in a dark riding habit, her startled features turned towards the door. Shotbolt, who had in some degree recovered from the effects of his previous mortification, was thrown into an ecstacy of delight, and could not sufficiently exult over the prisoner. Did you grow up at the Valade estates? You were born a Valade, I take it, even though your father is English.
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