A little smothered cry broke from her lips—the curtains were thrown aside and a man stepped out. She decided that she would try to push whatever resolve he had in the car to see where it would lead. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. "The long and the short o' the matter's this then," returned Sharples with dignity, "the Markis begs your acceptance o' ten guineas to drink his health. Your speaking of the trial brings the whole scene to my mind. But if I were dying of thirst, in a desert, I would not accept a cup of water at her hands. A.
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