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"Brother," cried Lady Trafford, her eye blazing with unnatural light, and her cheek suffused with a crimson stain: "Brother," she cried, lifting her thin fingers towards Heaven, "as God shall judge me, I was wedded to that murdered man!" "A lie!" ejaculated Sir Rowland, furiously; "a black, and damning lie!" "It is the truth," replied his sister, falling backwards upon the couch. ‘Sapristi,’ he gasped. Yon must be mine to-night. Her fingers closed upon it instinctively. What lends a tragic mockery to all these tender traps of hers was that she was within lawful bounds. Wood. ‘That is a matter for the lawyers. A kind but hard looking female officer named Rose took her into a room and sat her down at a small wooden table. .
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