Having watched the funeral at some distance, Jonathan fancied he could discern the figure of Jack; but not being quite sure, he entered the church. Arrived at the audience-chamber, he set down the light upon a stand, threw open the door, and announced in a loud voice, but with the perfect intonation of the person he represented,—"Sir Rowland Trenchard. Wood?" "With pleasure," replied the woollen-draper. Having accomplished his intent, Gerald let the lad go and had himself driven back to Stratton Street. She exhaled, feeling the tension drain from her shoulders and arms.
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