Capes and her father stood up, and her father made a belated movement toward the curtain. “She found my collection of witchcraft books under my bed and threw them away. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. I packed so hurriedly that it will take me a long time to find my things.
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