The owner of this dress had a broad weather-beaten face, small twinkling eyes, and a bushy, grizzled beard. He—he has rather a poor opinion of his contemporaries. Love, obliterated, annihilated; out of his heart and out of his Bible. “Accident! She shot me,” he muttered. Lady Trafford, supposed to be childless, broken in health and spirits, frail both in mind and body, is not likely to make another marriage. S. Satisfied with his scrutiny, he produced a pocket-flask, and taking off the silver cup with which it was mounted, filled it with the contents of the flask, and then seizing the thin arm of the sleeper, rudely shook it. He's the only native I trust in these parts. E.
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