She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. Mrs Sindlesham raised her brows. “When you married me——” Her little hand flashed out across the table. . Lose no time. ‘Good God!’ uttered Roding. ” “That is why they hissed me, then?” “Of course.
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