"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. She sat down awkwardly and helplessly on one of the little stools by her table and covered her face with her hands. His obtuse hands punched and jabbed at her uselessly, then he throttled her neck with the last of his strength. No wonder we are anxious that nothing should happen to make him change his mind.
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