” “Do you think that it was wise of you, or kind to come?” she asked quietly. "The end is the most beautiful in English literature. The season was ripe for mating, she thought to herself bitterly. She turned to Martha as the lad exited by the back door, but her nurse forestalled anything she might have said. Don't you see Mr. Oh, I think I understand, Annabel. " "And I trust you will never have occasion to weep again, my poor soul," replied Wood, setting down his lantern, and brushing a few drops from his eyes, "unless it be tears of joy.
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