“Is that not rather a profitless speculation, my friend?” He seemed deaf to her interruption. " "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections. Drenched to the skin,—in fact, he had been lying in a bed of muddy water,—and chilled to the very bone, he felt so stiff, that he could scarcely move. And Miss Miniver began to sway her. ” “But I didn’t lose it that way, did I?” She grew hysterical. But I'm resolved to see Lady Trafford. Lucia dismissed the rumors, as it was not likely an archbishop would renege on his duties to become her personal doctor.
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