<p><SPAN name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"></SPAN></p>
<h2> CHAPTER XXV </h2>
<h3> THE RED MILL </h3>
<p>After a week's experience of that delectable dwelling and its
neighbourhood, Adrian began to grow weary of the Red Mill. Nine or ten
Dutch miles to the nor'west of Haarlem is a place called Velsen, situated
on the borders of the sand-dunes, to the south of what is known to-day as
the North Sea Canal. In the times of which this page of history tells,
however, the canal was represented by a great drainage dyke, and Velsen
was but a deserted village. Indeed, hereabouts all the country was
deserted, for some years before a Spanish force had passed through it,
burning, slaying, laying waste, so that few were left to tend the
windmills and repair the dyke. Holland is a country won from swamps and
seas, and if the water is not pumped out of it, and the ditches are not
cleaned, very quickly it relapses into primeval marsh; indeed, it is
fortunate if the ocean, bursting through the feeble barriers reared by the
industry of man, does not turn it into vast lagoons of salt water.</p>
<p>Once the Red Mill had been a pumping station, which, when the huge sails
worked, delivered the water from the fertile meadows into the great dyke,
whence it ran through sluice gates to the North Sea. Now, although the
embankment of this dyke still held, the meadows had gone back into swamps.
Rising out of these—for it was situated upon a low mound of earth,
raised, doubtless, as a point of refuge by marsh-dwellers who lived and
died before history began, towered the wreck of a narrow-waisted windmill,
built of brick below and wood above, of very lonesome and commanding
appearance in its gaunt solitude. There were no houses near it, no cattle
grazed about its foot; it was a dead thing in a dead landscape. To the
left, but separated from it by a wide and slimy dyke, whence in times of
flood the thick, brackish water trickled to the plain, stretched an arid
area of sand-dunes, clothed with sparse grass, that grew like bristles
upon the back of a wild hog. Beyond these dunes the ocean roared and
moaned and whispered hungrily as the wind and weather stirred its depths.
In front, not fifty paces away, ran the big dyke like a raised road,
secured by embankments, and discharging day by day its millions of gallons
of water into the sea. But these embankments were weakening now, and here
and there could be seen a spot which looked as though a giant ploughshare
had been drawn up them, for a groove of brown earth scarred the face of
green, where in some winter flood the water had poured over to find its
level, cutting them like cheese, but when its volume sank, leaving them
still standing, and as yet sufficient for their purpose.</p>
<p>To the right again and behind, were more marshes, broken only in the
distance by the towers of Haarlem and the spires of village churches,
marshes where the snipe and bittern boomed, the herons fed, and in summer
the frogs croaked all night long.</p>
<p>Such was the refuge to which Ramiro and his son, Adrian, had been led by
Hague Simon and Black Meg, after they had escaped with their lives from
Leyden upon the night of the image-breaking in the church, that ominous
night when the Abbe Dominic gave up the ghost on the arm of the lofty
Rood, and Adrian had received absolution and baptism from his consecrated
hand.</p>
<p>On the journey hither Adrian asked no questions as to their destination;
he was too broken in heart and too shaken in body to be curious; life in
those days was for him too much of a hideous phantasmagoria of waste and
blackness out of which appeared vengeful, red-handed figures, out of which
echoed dismal, despairing voices calling him to doom.</p>
<p>They came to the place and found its great basement and the floors above,
or some of them, furnished after a fashion. The mill had been inhabited,
and recently, as Adrian gathered, by smugglers, or thieves, with whom Meg
and Simon were in alliance, or some such outcast evil-doers who knew that
here the arm of the law could not reach them. Though, indeed, while Alva
ruled in the Netherlands there was little law to be feared by those who
were rich or who dared to worship God after their own manner.</p>
<p>"Why have we come here—father," Adrian was about to add, but the
word stuck in his throat.</p>
<p>Ramiro shrugged his shoulders and looked round him with his one
criticising eye.</p>
<p>"Because our guides and friends, the worthy Simon and his wife, assure me
that in this spot alone our throats are for the present safe, and by St.
Pancras, after what we saw in the church yonder I am inclined to agree
with them. He looked a poor thing up under the roof there, the holy Father
Dominic, didn't he, hanging up like a black spider from the end of his
cord? Bah! my backbone aches when I think of him."</p>
<p>"And how long are we to stop here?"</p>
<p>"Till—till Don Frederic has taken Haarlem and these fat Hollanders,
or those who are left of them, lick our boots for mercy," and he ground
his teeth, then added: "Son, do you play cards? Good, well let us have a
game. Here are dice; it will serve to turn our thoughts. Now then, a
hundred guilders on it."</p>
<p>So they played and Adrian won, whereon, to his amazement, his father paid
him the money.</p>
<p>"What is the use of that?" asked Adrian.</p>
<p>"Gentlemen should always pay their debts at cards."</p>
<p>"And if they cannot?"</p>
<p>"Then they must keep score of the amount and discharge it when they are
able. Look you, young man, everything else you may forget, but what you
lose over the dice is a debt of honour. There lives no man who can say
that I cheated him of a guilder at cards, though I fear some others have
my name standing in their books."</p>
<p>When they rose from their game that night Adrian had won between three and
four hundred florins. Next day his winnings amounted to a thousand
florins, for which his father gave him a carefully-executed note of hand;
but at the third sitting the luck changed or perhaps skill began to tell,
and he lost two thousand florins. These he paid up by returning his
father's note, his own winnings, and all the balance of the purse of gold
which his mother had given to him when he was driven from the house, so
that now he was practically penniless.</p>
<p>The rest of the history may be guessed. At every game the stakes were
increased, for since Adrian could not pay, it was a matter of indifference
to him how much he wagered. Moreover, he found a kind of mild excitement
in playing at the handling of such great sums of money. By the end of a
week he had lost a queen's dowry. As they rose from the table that night
his father filled in the usual form, requested him to be so good as to
sign it, and a sour-faced woman who had arrived at the mill, Adrian knew
not whence, to do the household work, to put her name as witness.</p>
<p>"What is the use of this farce?" asked Adrian. "Brant's treasure would
scarcely pay that bill."</p>
<p>His father pricked his ears.</p>
<p>"Indeed? I lay it at as much again. What is the use? Who knows—one
day you might become rich, for, as the great Emperor said, 'Fortune is a
woman who reserves her favours for the young,' and then, doubtless, being
the man of honour that you are, you would wish to pay your old gambling
debts."</p>
<p>"Oh! yes, I should pay if I could," answered Adrian with a yawn. "But it
seems hardly worthy while talking about, does it?" and he sauntered out of
the place into the open air.</p>
<p>His father rose, and, standing by the great peat fire, watched him depart
thoughtfully.</p>
<p>"Let me take stock of the position," he said to himself. "The dear child
hasn't a farthing left; therefore, although he is getting bored, he can't
run away. Moreover, he owes me more money than I ever saw; therefore, if
he should chance to become the husband of the Jufvrouw Brant, and the
legal owner of her parent's wealth, whatever disagreements may ensue
between him and me I shall have earned my share of it in a clean and
gentlemanly fashion. If, on the other hand, it should become necessary for
me to marry the young lady, which God forbid, at least no harm is done,
and he will have had the advantage of some valuable lessons from the most
accomplished card-player in Spain.</p>
<p>"And now what we need to enliven this detestable place is the presence of
Beauty herself. Our worthy friends should be back soon—bringing
their sheaves with them, let us hope, for otherwise matters will be
complicated. Let me see: have I thought of everything, for in such affairs
one oversight—He is a Catholic, therefore can contract a legal
marriage under the Proclamations—it was lucky I remembered that
point of law, though it nearly cost us all our lives—and the priest,
I can lay my hands on him, a discreet man, who won't hear if the lady says
No, but filled beyond a question with the power and virtue of his holy
office. No, I have nothing to reproach myself with in the way of
precaution, nothing at all. I have sown the seed well and truly, it
remains only for Providence to give the increase, or shall I say—no,
I think not, for between the general and the private familiarity is always
odious. Well, it is time that you met with a little success and settled
down, for you have worked hard, Juan, my friend, and you are getting old—yes,
Juan, you are getting old. Bah! what a hole and what weather!" and
Montalvo established himself by the fireside to doze away his <i>ennui</i>.</p>
<p>When Adrian shut the door behind him the late November day was drawing to
its close, and between the rifts in the sullen snow clouds now and again
an arrow from the westering sun struck upon the tall, skeleton-like sails
of the mill, through which the wind rushed with a screaming noise. Adrian
had intended to walk on the marsh, but finding it too sodden, he crossed
the western dyke by means of a board laid from bank to bank, and struck
into the sand-dunes beyond. Even in the summer, when the air was still and
flowers bloomed and larks sang, these dunes were fantastic and almost
unnatural in appearance, with their deep, wind-scooped hollows of pallid
sand, their sharp angles, miniature cliffs, and their crests crowned with
coarse grasses. But now, beneath the dull pall of the winter sky, no spot
in the world could have been more lonesome or more desolate, for never a
sign of man was to be seen upon them and save for a solitary curlew, whose
sad note reached Adrian's ears as it beat up wind from the sea, even the
beasts and birds that dwelt there had hidden themselves away. Only the
voices of Nature remained in all their majesty, the drear screams and moan
of the rushing wind, and above it, now low and now voluminous as the gale
veered, the deep and constant roar of the ocean.</p>
<p>Adrian reached the highest crest of the ridge, whence the sea, hidden
hitherto, became suddenly visible, a vast, slate-coloured expanse, twisted
here and there into heaps, hollowed here and there into valleys, and
broken everywhere with angry lines and areas of white. In such trouble,
for, after its own fashion, his heart was troubled, some temperaments
might have found a kind of consolation in this sight, for while we witness
them, at any rate, the throes and moods of Nature in their greatness
declare a mastery of our senses, and stun or hush to silence the petty
turmoil of our souls. This, at least, is so with those who have eyes to
read the lesson written on Nature's face, and ears to hear the message
which day by day she delivers with her lips; gifts given only to such as
hold the cypher-key of imagination, and pray for grace to use it.</p>
<p>In Adrian's case, however, the weirdness of the sand-hills and the
grandeur of the seascape with the bitter wind that blew between and the
solitude which brooded over all, served only to exasperate nerves that
already were strained well nigh to breaking.</p>
<p>Why had his father brought him to this hideous swamp bordered by a
sailless sea? To save their lives from the fury of the mob? This he
understood, but there was more in it than that, some plot which he did not
understand, and which the ruffian, Hague Simon, and that she-fiend, his
companion, had gone away to execute. Meanwhile he must sit here day after
day playing cards with the wretch Ramiro, whom, for no fault of his own,
God had chosen out to be his parent. By the way, why was the man so fond
of playing cards? And what was the meaning of all that nonsense about
notes of hand? Yes, here he must sit, and for company he had the sense of
his unalterable shame, the memory of his mother's face as she spurned and
rejected him, the vision of the woman whom he loved and had lost, and—the
ghost of Dirk van Goorl.</p>
<p>He shivered as he thought of it; yes, his hair lifted and his lip twitched
involuntarily, for to Adrian's racked nerves and distorted vision this
ghost of the good man whom he had betrayed was no child of phantasy. He
had woken in the night and seen it standing at his bedside, plague-defiled
and hunger-wasted, and because of it he dreaded to sleep alone, especially
in that creaking, rat-haunted mill, whose very board seemed charged with
some tale of death and blood. Heavens! At this very moment he thought he
could hear that dead voice calling down the gale. No, it must be the
curlew, but at least he would be going home. Home—that place home—with
not even a priest near to confess to and be comforted!</p>
<p>Thanks be to the Saints! the wind had dropped a little, but now in place
of it came the snow, dense, whirling, white; so dense indeed that he could
scarcely see his path. What an end that would be, to be frozen to death in
the snow on these sand-hills while the spirit of Dirk van Goorl sat near
and watched him die with those hollow, hungry eyes. The sweat came upon
Adrian's forehead at the thought, and he broke into a run, heading for the
bank of the great dyke that pierced the dunes half a mile or so away,
which bank must, he knew, lead him to the mill. He reached it and trudged
along what had been the towpath, though now it was overgrown with weeds
and rushes. It was not a pleasant journey, for the twilight had closed in
with speed and the thick flakes, that seemed to heap into his face and
sting him, turned it into a darkness mottled with faint white. Still he
stumbled forward with bent head and close-wrapped cloak till he judged
that he must be near to the mill, and halted staring through the gloom.</p>
<p>Just then the snow ceased for a while and light crept back to the cold
face of the earth, showing Adrian that he had done well to halt. In front
of where he stood, within a few paces of his feet indeed, for a distance
of quite twenty yards the lower part of the bank had slipped away, washed
from the stone core with which it was faced at this point, by a slow and
neglected percolation of water. Had he walked on therefore, he would have
fallen his own height or more into a slough of mud, whence he might, or
might not have been able to extricate himself. As it was, however, by such
light as remained he could crawl upon the coping of the stonework which
was still held in place with old struts of timber that, until they had
been denuded by the slow and constant leakage, were buried and supported
in the vanished earthwork. It was not a pleasant bridge, for to the right
lay the mud-bottomed gulf, and to the left, almost level with his feet,
were the black and peaty waters of the rain-fed dyke pouring onwards to
the sea.</p>
<p>"Next flood this will go," thought Adrian to himself, "and then the marsh
must become a mere which will be bad for whomever happens to be living in
the Red Mill." He was on firm ground again now, and there, looming tall
and spectral against the gloom, not five hundred yards away, rose the
gaunt sails of the mill. To reach it he walked on six score paces or more
to the little landing-quay, where a raised path ran to the building. As he
drew near to it he was astonished to hear the rattle of oars working in
rollocks and a man's voice say:</p>
<p>"Steady, here is the place, praise the Saints! Now, then, out passengers
and let us be gone."</p>
<p>Adrian, whom events had made timid, drew beneath the shadow of the bank
and watched, while from the dim outline of the boat arose three figures,
or rather two figures arose, dragging the third between them.</p>
<p>"Hold her," said a voice that seemed familiar, "while I give these men
their hire," and there followed a noise of clinking coin, mingled with
some oaths and grumbling about the weather and the distance, which were
abated with more coin. Then again the oars rattled and the boat was pushed
off, whereon a sweet voice cried in agonised tones:</p>
<p>"Sirs, you who have wives and daughters, will you leave me in the hands of
these wretches? In the name of God take pity upon my helplessness."</p>
<p>"It is a shame, and she so fair a maid," grumbled another thick and
raucous voice, but the steersman cried, "Mind your business, Marsh Jan. We
have done our job and got our pay, so leave the gentry to settle their own
love affairs. Good night to you, passengers; give way, give way," and the
boat swung round and vanished into the gloom.</p>
<p>For a moment Adrian's heart stood still; then he sprang forward to see
before him Hague Simon, the Butcher, Black Meg his wife, and between them
a bundle wrapped in shawls.</p>
<p>"What is this?" he asked.</p>
<p>"You ought to know, Heer Adrian," answered Black Meg with a chuckle,
"seeing that this charming piece of goods has been brought all the way
from Leyden, regardless of expense, for your especial benefit."</p>
<p>The bundle lifted its head, and the faint light shone upon the white and
terrified face of—Elsa Brant.</p>
<p>"May God reward you for this evil deed, Adrian, called van Goorl," said
the pitiful voice.</p>
<p>"This deed! What deed?" he stammered in answer. "I know nothing of it,
Elsa Brant."</p>
<p>"You know nothing of it? Yet it was done in your name, and you are here to
receive me, who was kidnapped as I walked outside Leyden to be dragged
hither with force by these monsters. Oh! have you no heart and no fear of
judgment that you can speak thus?"</p>
<p>"Free her," roared Adrian, rushing at the Butcher to see a knife gleaming
in his hand and another in that of Black Meg.</p>
<p>"Stop your nonsense, Master Adrian, and stand back. If you have anything
to say, say it to your father, the Count. Come, let us pass, for we are
cold and weary," and taking Elsa by the elbows they brushed past him, nor,
indeed, even had he not been too bewildered to interfere, could Adrian
have stayed them, for he was unarmed. Besides, where would be the use,
seeing that the boat had gone and that they were alone on a winter's night
in the wind-swept wilderness, with no refuge for miles save such as the
mill house could afford. So Adrian bent his head, for the snow had begun
to fall again, and, sick at heart, followed them along the path. Now he
understood at length why they had come to the Red Mill.</p>
<p>Simon opened the door and entered, but Elsa hung back at its ill-omened
threshold. She even tried to struggle a little, poor girl, whereon the
ruffian in front jerked her towards him with an oath, so that she caught
her foot and fell upon her face. This was too much for Adrian. Springing
forward he struck the Butcher full in the mouth with his fist, and next
moment they were rolling over and over each other upon the floor,
struggling fiercely for the knife which Simon held.</p>
<p>During all her life Elsa never forgot that scene. Behind her the howling
blackness of the night and the open door, through which flake by flake the
snow leapt into the light. In front the large round room, fashioned from
the basement of the mill, lit only by the great fire of turfs and a single
horn lantern, hung from the ceiling that was ribbed with beams of black
and massive oak. And there, in this forbidding, naked-looking place, that
rocked and quivered as the gale caught the tall arms of the mill above,
seated by the hearth in a rude chair of wood and sleeping, one man,
Ramiro, the Spanish sleuth-hound, who had hunted down her father, he whom
above every other she held in horror and in hate; and two, Adrian and the
spy, at death-grips on the floor, between them the sheen of a naked knife.</p>
<p>Such was the picture.</p>
<p>Ramiro awoke at the noise, and there was fear on his face as though some
ill dream lingered in his brain. Next instant he saw and understood.</p>
<p>"I will run the man through who strikes another blow," he said, in a cold
clear voice as he drew his sword. "Stand up, you fools, and tell me what
this means."</p>
<p>"It means that this brute beast but now threw Elsa Brant upon her face,"
gasped Adrian as he rose, "and I punished him."</p>
<p>"It is a lie," hissed the other; "I pulled the minx on, that is all, and
so would you have done, if you had been cursed with such a wild-cat for
four-and-twenty hours. Why, when we took her she was more trouble to hold
than any man."</p>
<p>"Oh! I understand," interrupted Ramiro, who had recovered his composure;
"a little maidenly reluctance, that is all, my worthy Simon, and as for
this young gentleman, a little lover-like anxiety—doubtless in
bygone years you have felt the same," and he glanced mockingly at Black
Meg. "So do not be too ready to take offence, good Simon. Youth will be
youth."</p>
<p>"And Youth will get a knife between its ribs if it is not careful,"
grumbled Hague Simon, as he spat out a piece of broken tooth.</p>
<p>"Why am I brought here, Senor," broke in Elsa, "in defiance of laws and
justice?"</p>
<p>"Laws! Mejufvrouw, I did not know that there were any left in the
Netherlands; justice! well, all is fair in love and war, as any lady will
admit. And the reason why—I think you must ask Adrian, he knows more
about it than I do."</p>
<p>"He says that he knows nothing, Senor."</p>
<p>"Does he, the rogue? Does he indeed? Well, it would be rude to contradict
him, wouldn't it, so I for one unreservedly accept his statement that he
knows nothing, and I advise you to do the same. No, no, my boy, do not
trouble to explain, we all quite understand. Now, my good dame," he went
on addressing the serving-woman who had entered the place, "take this
young lady to the best room you have above. And, listen, both of you, she
is to be treated with all kindness, do you hear, for if any harm comes to
her, either at your hands or her own, by Heaven! you shall pay for it to
the last drop of your blood. Now, no excuses and—no mistakes."</p>
<p>The two women, Meg and the other, nodded and motioned to Elsa to accompany
them. She considered a moment, looking first at Ramiro and next at Adrian.
Then her head dropped upon her breast, and turning without a word she
followed them up the creaking oaken stair that rose from a niche near the
wall of the ingle-nook.</p>
<p>"Father," said Adrian when the massive door had closed behind her and they
were left alone—"father—for I suppose that I must call you
so."</p>
<p>"There is not the slightest necessity," broke in Ramiro; "facts, my dear
son, need not always be paraded in the cold light of day—fortunately.
But, proceed."</p>
<p>"What does all this mean?"</p>
<p>"I wish I could tell you. It appears to mean, however, that without any
effort upon your part, for you seem to me a young man singularly devoid of
resource, your love affairs are prospering beyond expectation."</p>
<p>"I have had nothing to do with the business; I wash my hands of it."</p>
<p>"That is as well. Some sensitive people might think they need a deal of
washing. You young fool," he went on, dropping his mocking manner, "listen
to me. You are in love with this pink and white piece of goods, and I have
brought her here for you to marry."</p>
<p>"And I refuse to marry her against her will."</p>
<p>"As to that you can please yourself. But somebody has got to marry her—you,
or I."</p>
<p>"You—<i>you!</i>" gasped Adrian.</p>
<p>"Quite so. The adventure is not one, to be frank, that attracts me. At my
age memories are sufficient. But material interests must be attended to,
so if you decline—well, I am still eligible and hearty. Do you see
the point?"</p>
<p>"No, what is it?"</p>
<p>"It is a sound title to the inheritance of the departed Hendrik Brant.
That wealth we might, it is true, obtain by artifice or by arms; but how
much better that it should come into the family in a regular fashion,
thereby ousting the claim of the Crown. Things in this country are
disturbed at present, but they will not always be disturbed, for in the
end somebody must give way and order will prevail. Then questions might be
asked, for persons in possession of great riches are always the mark of
envy. But if the heiress is married to a good Catholic and loyal subject
of the king, who can cavil at rights sanctified by the laws of God and
man? Think it over, my dear Adrian, think it over. Step-mother or wife—you
can take your choice."</p>
<p>With impotent rage, with turmoil of heart and torment of conscience,
Adrian did think it over. All that night he thought, tossing on his
rat-haunted pallet, while without the snow whirled and the wind beat. If
he did not marry Elsa, his father would, and there could be no doubt as to
which of these alternatives would be best and happiest for her. Elsa
married to that wicked, cynical, devil-possessed, battered,
fortune-hunting adventurer with a nameless past! This must be prevented at
any cost. With his father her lot <i>must</i> be a hell; with himself—after
a period of storm and doubt perhaps—it could scarcely be other than
happy, for was he not young, handsome, sympathetic, and—devoted? Ah!
there was the real point. He loved this lady with all the earnestness of
which his nature was capable, and the thought of her passing into the
possession of another man gave him the acutest anguish. That the man
should be Foy, his half-brother, was bad enough; that it should be Ramiro,
his father, was insupportable.</p>
<p>At breakfast the following morning, when Elsa did not appear, the pair
met.</p>
<p>"You look pale, Adrian," said his father presently. "I fear that this wild
weather kept you awake last night, as it did me, although at your age I
have slept through the roar of a battle. Well, have you thought over our
conversation? I do not wish to trouble you with these incessant family
matters, but times presses, and it is necessary to decide."</p>
<p>Adrian looked out of the lattice at the snow, which fell and fell without
pause. Then he turned and said:</p>
<p>"Yes. Of the two it is best that she should marry me, though I think that
such a crime will bring its own reward."</p>
<p>"Wise young man," answered his father. "Under all your cloakings of vagary
I observe that you have a foundation of common-sense, just as the giddiest
weathercock is bedded on a stone. As for the reward, considered properly
it seems to be one upon which I can heartily congratulate you."</p>
<p>"Peace to that talk," said Adrian, angrily; "you forget that there are two
parties to such a contract; her consent must be gained, and I will not ask
it."</p>
<p>"No? Then I will; a few arguments occur to me. Now look here, friend, we
have struck a bargain, and you will be so good as to keep it or to take
the consequences—oh! never mind what they are. I will bring this
lady to the altar—or, rather, to that table, and you will marry her,
after which you can settle matters just exactly as you please; live with
her as your wife, or make your bow and walk away, which, I care nothing so
long as you are married. Now I am weary of all this talk, so be so good as
to leave me in peace on the subject."</p>
<p>Adrian looked at him, opened his lips to speak, then changed his mind and
marched out of the house into the blinding snow.</p>
<p>"Thank Heaven he is gone at last!" reflected his father, and called for
Hague Simon, with whom he held a long and careful interview.</p>
<p>"You understand?" he ended.</p>
<p>"I understand," answered Simon, sulkily. "I am to find this priest, who
should be waiting at the place you name, and to bring him here by
nightfall to-morrow, which is a rough job for a Christian man in such
weather as this."</p>
<p>"The pay, friend Simon, remember the pay."</p>
<p>"Oh! yes, it all sounds well enough, but I should like something on
account."</p>
<p>"You shall have it—is not such a labourer worthy of his hire?"
replied his employer with enthusiasm, and producing from his pocket the
purse which Lysbeth had given Adrian, with a smile of peculiar
satisfaction, for really the thing had a comic side, he counted a handsome
sum into the hand of this emissary of Venus.</p>
<p>Simon looked at the money, concluded, after some reflection, that it would
scarcely do to stand out for more at present, pouched it, and having
wrapped himself in a thick frieze coat, opened the door and vanished into
the falling snow.</p>
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