" "It wasn't the fumes of whisky that toppled him out of his chair. ‘Your master in?’ he demanded of the astonished footman, removing his cockaded hat and handing it over. "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. On a bench at the foot of the trees, with a pipe in his mouth, and a tankard by his side, sat the worthy carpenter, looking the picture of good-heartedness and benevolence. His eyes were small and grey; as far apart and as sly-looking as those of a fox. ‘That is the man who tries to kill me, but he wounded instead my servant.
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