Indeed, if he had been ignorant of it, the sound of voices which he could faintly distinguish, would have served as a caution to him. It was a boy baby cooing in swaddling clothes, a baby who had just been born to the butcher's servant across the alley, the maid Isobella who trailed behind, beaming. Entranced, he stared at the name. 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. "Take the prisoners below, Nab," said Jonathan, addressing the dwarfish Jew; "I'll join you in an instant.
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