Wood's," said the latter, "since I find him at his own gate. "Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom. ‘Keep still, for God’s sake! Hilary will send him off all right and tight, never fear. ” Brendon rushed to the piano and strummed out a tune. Her figure, though slight, had all the fulness of health; and her complexion—still pale, but without its former sickly cast,—contrasted agreeably, by its extreme fairness, with the dark brows and darker lashes that shaded eyes which, if they had lost some of their original brilliancy, had gained infinitely more in the soft and chastened lustre that replaced it.
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