Before an hour had elapsed, the concourse was fearfully increased. "A sail?" said McClintock. Turning to Melusine, he grabbed both her wrists and held her away from him, as if afraid that she might go for him. "Sir Rowland is your uncle—he will be your guardian—he will protect you. Only she was conscious of an unfamiliar and wonderful emotion. Their faces were masks of abject horror, sunken and shriveled, their cheekbones protruding. For a few minutes, she appeared scarcely sensible of his presence.
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