But now it was all over, and Alice was getting on well. Poor girl! she was beautiful once; so beautiful as to make me, who care little for the allurements of women, fancy myself enamoured of her. One would think I had agreed to her going. I want to make myself visible to you. "Don't look at it, I entreat," she cried. 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. By his side sat a remarkably stout dame, to whom he paid as much attention as it was in his iron nature to pay.
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