"It is her child!" shrieked Rowland, in a voice heard above the howling of the tempest, "risen from this roaring abyss to torment me. Indeed, if he had been ignorant of it, the sound of voices which he could faintly distinguish, would have served as a caution to him. No, I thank you. "Release him first—and I will disclose it!" cried Lady Trafford; "on my soul, I will!" "Speak then!" returned Rowland. By a tacit agreement they ignored the significant thing between them, ignored the slipping away of the ground on which they had stood together hitherto. ToC Saint Giles's Round-house was an old detached fabric, standing in an angle of Kendrick Yard. Beyond was an avenue of tall poplars that rose like columns, disappearing into undulating hills that were black with sleeping houses and fertile soil.
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