He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. He fancied that the turnkeys had discovered his flight and were in pursuit of him,—that they had climbed up the chimney,—entered the Red Room,— tracked him from door to door, and were now only detained by the gate which he had left unbroken in the chapel. "Stop a minute, my dear," cried Austin. ’ The fury welled.
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