” He looked at Lucy. Forgetting her occupation in her anger, she left off bathing Darrell's wrist; and, squeezing his arm so tightly that the boy winced with pain, she clapped her right hand upon her hip, and turned, with flashing eyes and an inflamed countenance, towards her crest-fallen spouse. She had in her suitcase a small scrapbook, only a few pages, what little information she had gathered on him through the years. I was sorry for what I did afterwards; for, I don't know why, but, poor, lady! with her pale face, and black eyes, she reminded me of my mother. “Yes. Wild had a narrow escape lately, in that affair of Captain Darrell," observed Shotbolt.
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