" As he said this, the carpenter patted the cheek of the little object of his benevolent professions, and, in so doing, unintentionally aroused him from his slumbers. ‘Mary was indeed naïve, but there I should say the similarity ends. He drew her to him with his hands upon her waist. “You are making your dress?” “Such as it is. He fancied that the turnkeys had discovered his flight and were in pursuit of him,—that they had climbed up the chimney,—entered the Red Room,— tracked him from door to door, and were now only detained by the gate which he had left unbroken in the chapel. I consented. He made a quick movement towards her, but she did not flinch. But those days are over—quite over. “NOW!” said Ann Veronica. ‘Let her go. His reputation was slightly tainted by his marriage to her mother, an exotic blue-eyed raven-haired beauty, a Gypsy doll with a clandestine heritage. I'm used to insult as I am to misfortune, and am grown callous to both; but I'm not used to compassion, and know not how to take it. " CHAPTER XVIII.
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