"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. ‘Now then, my lad, you’re under arrest you are. I am guilty practically of the impertinence of coming to ask you whether I misunderstood your sister. Run along while I rig up and get the part in my hair straight. "There's Sharples," cried Quilt.
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