Sydney was strumming over a new song which stood upon the piano. At length, about an hour before dawn on the second day—Sunday—having spent the early part of the night in watching at the gates of the robbers' sanctuary, and being almost exhausted from want of rest, she set out homewards. “There is something which I must say to you. I'm sure she'll let me go, though. But perhaps you don't know; there was nothing in the pockets.
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