"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. "Ay, what's the matter, boy!" reiterated Jackson sternly. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. "You had better let me convey her to Dollis Hill," he said.
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