She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. I have a special interest in Mary Remenham because I believe I have discovered her daughter. "Beg pardon, Sir Rowland," said the attendant, "but there's a boy from Mr. He took up his hat and went. Never did I need a rescue so much. " But he searched in vain. Because here was the haven for which she had been blindly groping: the positive abolition of all her father's rights in her—the right to drag her back. ’ A sudden thought brought a frown to her brow.
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