His voice now had lost its ironies. Guided by the glare of the forge, which threw a stream of ruddy light across the road, Jack soon found the place of which he was in search. But the objects in his range of vision remained unchanged. You need have no apprehensions about him, Sir Rowland. Lord help him! he's the very image of his father. Courtlaw. Both advanced towards it, when, by the light of the lantern, Wood beheld, in the countenance of the stranger, the well-remembered and stern features of Rowland.
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