Instead of English villas and cottages there were chalets and Italian-built houses shining white; there were lakes of emerald and sapphire and clustering castles, and such sweeps of hill and mountain, such shining uplands of snow, as she had never seen before. At sight of his wan features, she forgot the urgency of her need for a moment, and fell to her knees at his bedside, placing her hands on his slack ones where they lay on the soiled coverlet. "Hear me, Sir Rowland!" he cried. Her hair was of the darkest brown, and finest texture; and, when unloosed, hung down to her heels. " "Sir Rowland Trenchard!" echoed Jack, in amazement.
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