Mrs. " "Why, that must be about the time of the Great Storm," rejoined Jackson. Then she slowly straightened, releasing him. " "The boy's not at my house," replied Wild. Wood, now more buxom and more gorgeously arrayed than ever,—as well as a young and beautiful female, in whom he was at no loss to recognise the carpenter's daughter. She emerged with a white face and wide-open eyes upon a little, red-lit landing. “There, there, now. I want to be with you. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind.
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