It must be the dawn creeping in. She trembled; but she did not know why. The locket contained the face of her mother—all the family album she had. Mr. Wood; "to be sure you are! I wonder how you dare show your face in this house, hussy!" "I thought you sent for me, Ma'am," replied the widow, humbly. Smith. Do you know the story of Orpheus? He was a musician who followed his damned wife into Hell to bring her back? He was one of us, I believe. "What!" she exclaimed, almost choked with passion,—"I advised you to burthen yourself with that idle and good-for-nothing pauper, who'm you ought rather to send to the workhouse than maintain at your own expense, did I! I advised you to take him as an apprentice; and, so far from getting the regular fee with him, to give him a salary? I advised you to feed him, and clothe him, and treat him like his betters; to put up with his insolence, and wink at his faults? I counselled all this, I suppose.
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