As she went on, the story began to sound more and more like a recitation. The parlour was cluttered but cosy. " "Mr. The darkness was almost palpable; and the wind which, hitherto, had been blowing in gusts, was suddenly lulled. "Where did you get this from?" asked Wild, greatly surprised at the result of his investigation. It was as much accident as anything, but she had killed him. " Mr. "Rather a devil," groaned her son, "to have done this. ” He sidled toward her, but she recoiled from him, leaving him in possession of the hearth-rug. “I never dreamt!” she said. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son.
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