When I addressed her, she raised her head with a fierce, menacing gesture.

She evidently mistook me for Mr.Moncton, and smiled disdainfully on perceiving her error.

When I repeated his answer, it was received with a bitter and derisive laugh.
"He will not see me ?" "I have given you my uncle's answer." "_Uncle!_" she cried, with a repetition of the same horrid laugh.

"By courtesy, I suppose; I was not aware that there was another shoot of that accursed tree." I gazed upon her like one in a dream.

The old woman drew a slip of paper from her bosom, bidding me convey _that_ to my _worthy_ uncle, and ask him, in her name, "whether he, or his son, _dared_ to refuse admittance to the bearer." I took the billet from her withered hand, and once more proceeded to the study.