"It is the fiend!" she exclaimed, recoiling. She turned there, clasped her hands behind her back and put up her chin. F. Are you now satisfied?" "No," interposed Wood, furiously, "I shall never be satisfied till I see you hanged on the highest gibbet at Tyburn. Glad did I live and gladly die, And I laid me down with a will. ‘You’re either mad, or in love. 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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