Ramage did not know. The figure of the girl upon it in plain black dress, standing with her hands behind her, was an undeniable and astonishing likeness of herself. A dreamy sense of content crept over him. It was a moment before he recognised that the effect had been similar on all those present, including General Lord Charvill. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside.
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