"You have always been, far dearer to me than myself," replied Mrs. Wood had the advantage of her husband in point of years, being on the sunny side of forty,—a period pronounced by competent judges to be the most fascinating, and, at the same time, most critical epoch of woman's existence,—whereas, he was on the shady side of fifty,—a term of life not generally conceived to have any special recommendation in female eyes. His face, as he looked down where his hand sought for a weapon concealed in her petticoat, was so close that she could see only the line of his firm jaw, the drag of his powdered hair that drew it into the military pigtail, and the black ribbon that adorned it. He returned her impressive greeting almost mechanically. And, after all, a fine clear sky of bright colors is the signal to come out of hiding and rejoice and go on with life. But I can easily bring in a sing-song girl to play for you. Her heartbeat quickened. Water soaked her through in five minutes. "Can't!" repeated his mother.
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