Hanging on the wall was a temple censer, bronze, moulded in the shape of a lotus blossom with stem and leaves—deadly as a club. "I swear it," rejoined Jonathan, readily. “So, how’d it go?” Lucy sighed. It seemed to him that speech would be an anticlimax. Both, however, having safely landed, they cautiously crossed the room, and passed down the first flight of steps in silence. What was yet more worthy of note was, that the widow's countenance had an air of refinement about it, of which it was utterly destitute before, and which seemed to intimate that her true position in society was far above that wherein accident had placed her.
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