" "Now for it," thought the woollen-draper, "I shall, at least, ascertain how the land lies. Clotilde flew into a rage, crying, “How dare you lay claim to my children! I am their mother! This is a Godless house!” She accused. Perhaps Ferringhall has pensioned her off. "The gentleman is a stranger to me, Poll," replied the woollen-draper, with increased embarrassment. His countenance was almost as white and rigid as that of the corpse by his side. In doing this, he chanced to raise his eyes and half fancied he beheld, shaded by a pillar at the extremity of the western aisle, the horrible countenance of the thief-taker. “Our ways happened to lie together.
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