She had recourse to the torn off strip of petticoat again, and blowing her nose with an air of determination, sniffed back the tears. " Sir Rowland, meantime, throw himself on his knees beside his sister, and, clasping her chilly fingers within his own, besought her forgiveness in the most passionate terms. ‘Get out! Out, I say! Think I want another miserable cowardly good-for-nothing wastrel on my hands? Begone! Out of my house!’ He drove them to the door, grimly satisfied when the girl’s nerve broke. But this was not a season in which to be needlessly scrupulous. His pale and boyish waist was nearly as slim as her own. For a time he would be the grim Protestant Flagellant, pursuing the idea of self-castigation. That is why I have dyed my hair, that is why I have abandoned my rôle of ingenuèe and altered my whole style of dress. "Brother," cried Lady Trafford, her eye blazing with unnatural light, and her cheek suffused with a crimson stain: "Brother," she cried, lifting her thin fingers towards Heaven, "as God shall judge me, I was wedded to that murdered man!" "A lie!" ejaculated Sir Rowland, furiously; "a black, and damning lie!" "It is the truth," replied his sister, falling backwards upon the couch. Hastening to the spot where he had tied his horse to a tree, he vaulted into the saddle, and rode off across the fields,—for he was fearful of encountering the hostile party,—till he reached the Edgeware Road. Ennison,” she said, letting her fingers rest in his.
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