"Well, Sir?" gasped Sir Rowland. He became a little more personal and intimate. “MY DEAR GIRL,— “I am so sorry if we made asses of ourselves to-night. “This is all very well,” she said, “but two out of the three are rank deserters— and if the papers tell the truth the third is as bad. “Whither away?” he said, very distinctly in a curiously wheedling voice. They are mine! They were sent to ‘Alcide’ not to you. The agonized mother could scarcely repress a scream at the spectacle that met her gaze. "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.
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