” The detective turned again to Anna. ‘That is my mother. She grew attached to a pair of twins, a boy named Fritz and a girl named Anna, belonging to an auburn-haired Viennese prostitute named Clotilde. ” He mumbled, driving on. " "At your peril, sirrah!" cried Wood. All the events of the previous day rushed to his recollection; and though he had been unintentionally the cause of his mother's death, he reproached himself as severely as if he had been her actual murderer. The executioner shook his head. The atmosphere was 46 strained and deathly quiet at the dining room table. 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. Fritz sang for her sometimes, for Fritz could sing even before he was able to form words. “Quite alone, sir. It will be a little lonely sometimes,” she said, looking around at them, “and I shall miss you all, but it is the fairest for myself —and I think for you.
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