She sat down awkwardly and helplessly on one of the little stools by her table and covered her face with her hands. Her unnatural calm was giving way. " "You may see the marks on the child yourself, if you choose, Sir," urged the widow. “Your mother was a Gypsy. Are you sure you're not misinformed, Sir?" "I was in the Lodge at the time," replied the jailer. She grasped at the right one, massaging where his grip had been and Gerald hoped he had not bruised her. "I beg your pardon," he cried; "but really—ha! ha!—you must excuse me!—that is so uncommonly diverting—ha! ha! Do let me hear it again?—ha! ha! ha!" "Upon my word," rejoined Wood, "you seem vastly entertained by my misfortunes. ” “She’s coming on,” said Capes.
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