"What do you mean by that, sirrah?" cried Wood, reddening with anger. 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. “You ARE a female thing at bottom,” he admitted. His only warning was a gleam of silver in the faint spill of light from the house above. "What did you do?" he asked, in a broken voice. ” “Why not?” “Free woman—and equal. ‘This was a picture of Mary Remenham that I have found today.
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