"Lor' ha' mussy, Sir!—how you do talk," said the woman; "this is no robber, I'm sure. 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. Her mouth was worthy of her face; with small, pearly-white teeth; lips glossy, rosy, and pouting; and the sweetest smile imaginable, playing constantly about them. “And where,” he asked, “are my rivals?” “Deserters,” she answered, laughing. " "De jonker.
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