Pramlay lived for amenities and the mellowed surfaces of things. The vault, in which Sir Rowland found himself, resembled in some measure the cabin of a ship. "Brother," cried Lady Trafford, her eye blazing with unnatural light, and her cheek suffused with a crimson stain: "Brother," she cried, lifting her thin fingers towards Heaven, "as God shall judge me, I was wedded to that murdered man!" "A lie!" ejaculated Sir Rowland, furiously; "a black, and damning lie!" "It is the truth," replied his sister, falling backwards upon the couch. . This was not the sort of confession which he had been expecting. He opened the door of still another room, in one corner of which was a grand piano. What was the old tabby at? Unaccountably embarrassed, he cleared his throat. —Though if my name should become as famous as theirs, it wouldn't much matter.
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