Ennison too, always handsome and debonnair, seemed transported out of his calm self. They then entered the room, which was perfectly dark. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. The three young men exchanged expressive glances. “Oh, my dear!” she cried, and suddenly flung herself, kneeling, into her husband’s arms. "Well, Sir Rowland," he said, after a brief pause, during which the knight regarded him with a searching glance, as if endeavouring to recall his features, "I will not gainsay your words. ” “I am coming with you,” he said firmly. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. "I could have given awkward evidence in that case, if I'd been so inclined," said Mrs. F. " He rose for fear she might touch him again. There’s sure to be a place somewhere.
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