The night was now advancing, and the party began to think of separating. . The funeral procession had now approached the grave, around which many of the congregation, who were deeply interested by the sad ceremonial, had gathered. “Annabel at last,” he shouted. Raymond Plote would only be missed by his mother. Having disposed of his steed and swallowed a glass of brandy, without taking any other refreshment, he threw himself on a couch, where he sank at once into a heavy slumber. " Mrs. Sheppard raised her eyes, and fixed them upon her interrogator.
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