From first to last, on this occasion, her aunt expostulated for about two hours. The idiots are marching through the streets in processions from town to town, whipping their own backs until they are covered in blood, spreading the bloody Pestilence wherever they go! The dead pile in the streets like timber. Spare him!—pity me!" With this she arose, and, taking up the infant, was about to proceed down stairs, when she was alarmed by hearing the street-door opened, and the sound of heavy footsteps entering the house. "You mistake,—you are mine. She saw her aunt in tears, her father white-faced and hard hit.
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