"Brother," cried Lady Trafford, her eye blazing with unnatural light, and her cheek suffused with a crimson stain: "Brother," she cried, lifting her thin fingers towards Heaven, "as God shall judge me, I was wedded to that murdered man!" "A lie!" ejaculated Sir Rowland, furiously; "a black, and damning lie!" "It is the truth," replied his sister, falling backwards upon the couch. Adventure rules, and morality—looks up the trains in the Bradshaw. Nevertheless, she was no fool, and she knew that they could easily break loose and cause her to fall. It is easy enough to sing these little chansons in an original way—it requires a very different sort of ability to succeed on the stage.
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