“He couldn’t look me in the face and say it,” said Ann Veronica. Wood's favourite sitting-room, and her image was so intimately associated with it, neither the carpenter nor his daughter could muster courage to enter it before. —Sorry to quit your lord—worships, I mean,—I don't know what I mean," she added, a little confused, and dropping a profound curtsey to the disguised noblemen, each of whom replied by a bow, worthy, in her opinion, of a prince of the blood at the least,—"but I've a few necessary orders to give below. You are afraid—that here in London—I shall not be a success. Ain't he, Madam?'" "He is, indeed," replied the widow, fervently; "more—much more than that. She would write to Gerald. Making her couch upon a heap of hay, she sank at once into a deep and refreshing slumber. “But I wish,” she said, “I had some idea what I was really up to. " "You're a noble-hearted little fellow, Thames," rejoined Wood, casting a look of pride and affection at his adopted son, whose head he gently patted; "and give promise of a glorious manhood. “So what is John up to today?” Lucy asked with a weary smile. To that, perhaps, a large part of its satisfyingness was due. “You mean to follow her. “Now isn’t this nice!” that lady exclaimed. He well knows that but two lives—those of Thames Darrell and Sir Rowland Trenchard,—stand between you and the vast possessions of the family.
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