His gaze remained steady on the old dame’s face, as he thought about it. "No, I won't hear you, murderer," rejoined Wood. Her cheeks seemed to burn, her veins ran riot, and her heart was beating so fast that she was sure he must feel it through his scarlet coat. He leaned forward, and looked into the eyes of the woman he loved, and it seemed to him that she sang back to him with a sudden note of something like passion breaking here and there through the gay mocking words which flowed with such effortless and seductive music from her lips. "You can render no further service to your poor mother.
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