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It was now a quarter past twelve. 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. "To-night, your ladyship?" ventured an elderly domestic. “I am very glad that you have come here. Your father is very angry, and will not have her name mentioned in his hearing.
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