It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. The change will come to-day. "Rowland, your violence is killing me," she returned, in a plaintive tone. Melusine seized her chance. She drew in a deep breath of the sweet mountain air. “The doctor has asked me to give them my reasons—for shooting myself. . The woollen-draper looked at his watch.
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