“You must send for the police at once, you know. “Your friend, “DAVID COURTLAW. 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. The nose was long and sharp, the chin pointed, the forehead broad and flat, and connected, without any intervening hollow, with the eyelid; the teeth when displayed, seemed to reach from ear to ear. "Drink this, then," roared Blueskin. A trial always brings those involved into public notice, and I dare say he feels there will be scandal enough without adding to it.
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