’ Roding gave him a look of respect. 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. “It is you alone, Nigel, who have saved me from being an old maid. But now that this bar is removed, I trust I may, without impropriety, urge it. With a cry of triumph, he rose, the sword hilt grasped in his fingers, the point swishing up towards her.
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