The buboes broke and God took Lucia's mother. Their expression was so amiable, that it would have redeemed a countenance a thousand times plainer than hers. "I don't understand you, gentlemen," stammered he, at length. She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. But to make an arrest to be like a revenge? No, a thousand times. "Hell-hounds!" he cried; "release me!" At the same moment, Quilt Arnold rushed forward with such haste, that, stumbling over William Morgan, he precipitated him into the grave. There was no one to be seen. A discreet husband would leave the dispensation of his bounty, where women are concerned, to his wife.
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