—"Stay! something occurs to me. 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. But, though the latter was somewhat embarrassed by his burthen, he peremptorily declined Jonathan's offer of assistance. Get on with it, then. ‘That’s better,’ said Gerald, and let her go. She wanted to kiss his feet. I don’t mean I’m not a good woman—I mean that I’m not a GOOD woman. "Come! I see the storm has blown over," cried Winifred, brightening up.
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