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It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. Her knees were trembling, her whole frame was shaken with sobs. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. Then light footsteps became audible, descending the staircase with a certain deliberation and a faint rustle of skirts. “Whither away?” he said, very distinctly in a curiously wheedling voice. "Friends!" echoed Kneebone, with a look of dismay. Hers was beauty on a large scale no doubt; but it was beauty, nevertheless: and the carpenter thought her eyes as bright, her complexion as blooming, and her figure (if a little more buxom) quite as captivating as when he led her to the altar some twenty years ago. "My head fairly turns round. " With this, she burst into tears, and sank with her face upon his shoulder. “She must be warned. " Gravely he watched the needle flash to and fro. ” He said.
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