The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. Some years ago, in 1715, just before the Rebellion, I was rash enough to league myself with the Jacobite party, and by Wild's machinations got clapped into Newgate, whence I was glad to escape with my head upon my shoulders. Even that he was an interfering person, if he walked through that door this moment, she would fling herself at him and weep all over his chest. Her hair got loose, her hat came over one eye, and she had no arm free to replace it. Come, come, be reasonable, and listen to me. Upstairs, in the little dressing-room, the panel was opened by means of tugging a small candlesconce in the wall. The thought had not even occurred to him. I was always told my mother died the day I was born.
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