" "Oh! how much I owe him!" said the widow, with fervour, "for bringing me here, and removing me from those dreadful sights and sounds, that would have driven me distracted, even if I had been in my right mind. On this side was a razor with which a son had murdered his father; the blade notched, the haft crusted with blood: on that, a bar of iron, bent, and partly broken, with which a husband had beaten out his wife's brains. ‘Burned them, one by one, right before that fellow’s eyes. ” Lady Ferringhall was conscious of some relief. His hair flew out from the sides of his head like black bats from a belfry, it was unruly and long. She remained by the door until the walls of the city swallowed the bobbing lantern. A long chest under one of the windows was open, some of its contents dragged out and spilling onto the floor. ’ A scowl crossed the lady’s face.
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