A few steps brought him to the door of the vault in which his mother was immured. " "Then it was not a dream!" ejaculated Sir Rowland in a hollow voice, and as if speaking to himself. “There wasn’t. On a small shelf near the foot of the bed stood a couple of empty phials, a cracked ewer and basin, a brown jug without a handle, a small tin coffee-pot without a spout, a saucer of rouge, a fragment of looking-glass, and a flask, labelled "Rosa Solis.
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