The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance. A short way off in the fields he descried a sort of shed or cow-house, and thither he contrived to drag his weary limbs. A few steps brought him to the door of the vault in which his mother was immured. Martin came to the stage from his section, his own violin in hand. "I opened the padlock with this crooked nail, which I found in the floor.
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