Wood, I command you not to stir," vociferated the carpenter's better-half; "recollect you'll be answerable to me. Even though the individual faces of her audience were not to be singled out, she had been conscious from the first moment of her appearance that something was wrong. Her hair was the one part of her that did not exude the air of wealth. She receded into the entryway, opening her palm and gesturing as if there were an imaginary red carpet rolled out for visitors. " "Murder him!" cried Trenchard shuddering. "What have you seen?" inquired Lady Trafford. So absorbed was she by her passionate supplications that she was insensible to anything passing around her, until she felt a touch upon her shoulder, and heard a well-known voice breathe in her ear—"Mother!" She started at the sound as if an apparition had called her, screamed, and fell into her son's outstretched arms.
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