"Mother!" cried the son, "help!" "What is this?" shrieked Lady Trafford, raising herself on the couch, and extending her hands towards him. The struggles of the wounded man were desperate—so desperate, that in his agony he overset the table, and, in the confusion, tore off the cloth, and disclosed a face horribly mutilated, and streaming with blood. His pipe hung dead in his teeth, but the smoke was dense about him. She had unaccountable gleams of sympathy with and liking for him. But between us, we'll have him writing books some day. 1.
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