" "On no account," rejoined Wood peremptorily. " "Death and fiends!" exclaimed Jack; "the old thief is there. 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. Hitherto it had been qualified by her conception of all life as a compromise, by her new effort to be unexacting of life. Too late, alas, to stop the disastrous marriage. .
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