"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. The risk I run is nothing to yours. “Don’t!” she begged. The music throbbed into the warnings that preceded the king’s irruption. Listen to your mother's prayers, and do not let her die brokenhearted. You are my slave—and such you shall continue.
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