"That one for your brother, of course."
"No, mamma, I did not look at it."
"You never look at anything but your stupid worsted work. You will be an old maid, Elizabeth. Did you notice it, Elinor?"
"Yes, mamma. The superscription was in a very delicate feminine handwriting; and the seal was a wounded falcon, drawing the arrow from its own breast—surmounted by an earl's coronet."
"'Tis the seal of the Countess of Hurstmonceux."
CHAPTER IV.
THE FATAL DEED.
Hannah Worth walked home, laden like a beast of burden, with an enormous bag of hanked yarn on her back. She entered her hut, dropped the burden on the floor, and stopped to take breath.
"I think they might have sent a negro man to bring that for you, Hannah," said Nora, pausing in her spinning.