It must be the dawn creeping in. See paragraph 1. " "No," cried the lady, "this room—I recollect—it has a back window. ‘Jacques!’ She got no further, for Kimble came towards her, speaking fast and low. “You wish me to stay?” he asked, in a low tone. It had felt wonderful to pick up the fiddle again. It was a long walk she had to undertake, even if she had endured no previous fatigue, but feeble as she was, it was almost more than she could accomplish.
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