It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. How I envied Gianfrancesco on his wedding night, how I writhed in agony just thinking 171 about his intimacies with you! Then you became pregnant, and there he was, posturing and gloating like the rest of the family, my divinations of a boy in your womb pronounced. On searching the grounds, we found two suspicious-looking fellows in the garden, and had scarcely secured them, when your mother's cries summoned us hither, just in time to preserve her. " "What is it?" asked Thames. "What of that," rejoined Jonathan. And I get myself dirty. Better even than these. "Is this Misther Wudd's, my pretty miss?" demanded the rough voice of the Irish watchman. If he hasn't a job for you, he'll know someone who has.
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