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. “When they tap the roof,” she said, in a voice of authority, “you are to come out. "Thanks," he said, holding out a thin white hand. The expression, however, which would chiefly have interested a beholder, was that of settled and profound melancholy. "Damnation!" exclaimed one of the leaders of the party in a furious tone, snatching a torch from an attendant, and throwing its light full upon the face of the carpenter; "this is not the villain, Sir Cecil.
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