At this juncture, a cry was raised by a servant from below, that the robbers were flying through the garden. Spurling and Marvel rose too. The conceit of Howard Spurlock in imagining he knew what mental suffering was! But Enschede was right: Ruth must never know. Mother—dear mother!" he added, clasping her in his arms, "Look at me again. The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance. .
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