Edgeworth Bess wore a scarlet tabby negligée,—a sort of undress, or sack, then much in vogue,—which suited her to admiration, and upon her head had what was called a fly-cap, with richly-laced lappets. Her hair was of the darkest brown, and finest texture; and, when unloosed, hung down to her heels. It is in vain to struggle against the arm of fate. She was sitting on the mean straw mattress that was placed on the iron bedstead in the makeshift cell, while Melusine stood with her back to the door, confronting her old nurse with the truth. But I shan’t try to stop you.
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