You have made enough sacrifices for her surely without this. "Is she returned!" "Y—e—s, Sir Rowland," stammered Charcam. There were a few loose, broken fragments of rock to reckon with upon the ledges, and one place where hands did as much work as toes. 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.
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