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. She took to listening through closed doors. His first inquiries were concerning the child, and he was delighted to find that it still lived and was doing well. "Why came she here?" "She could not resist the hand of fate which drew her hither," replied Sir Cecil, mournfully. I somehow understood. ‘It did not seem to me that it was so. You have been useful to me, or I would not have spared you thus long. —Sorry to quit your lord—worships, I mean,—I don't know what I mean," she added, a little confused, and dropping a profound curtsey to the disguised noblemen, each of whom replied by a bow, worthy, in her opinion, of a prince of the blood at the least,—"but I've a few necessary orders to give below. "Don't alarm yourself. ‘I see that Leonardo was right. ” “I suppose people would say that it is a matter of temperament,” she continued.
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