" "Make good your assertions," cried Trenchard, furiously, "or——" "To the proof," interrupted the stranger, calmly. We went our ways. ‘Oh, the Frenchie. 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. ” He was very indifferent. To her, marriage would be a buckler against the two evils which pursued her.
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