" But the caution came too late. "What's that?" ejaculated the ruffian, glancing uneasily towards the window. She agreed entirely with her brother. Loneliness. “How CAN I tell him?” whispered Miss Stanley. 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. There was.
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