"Close the wicket, Austin," vociferated Ireton, in an authoritative tone. He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed. The latter began to heave himself up from the sand. Unlocking it, he entered the chamber, which by no means belied its external appearance.
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