That her husband was not touching her anymore grew to be like a disease, something to be cured. The major might not indulge in this sort of flirtation in the ordinary way, but he had seen enough among his army colleagues to know just how to go about it. "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.
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