Send for Mr. 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. “Please forgive me. “I wonder,” he said, and went off at a tangent. “And where,” he asked, “are my rivals?” “Deserters,” she answered, laughing. It was a large room, about twenty feet long and fifteen broad, and had an arched stone roof. Piercing through every crevice in the clothes, it, in some cases, tore them from the wearer's limbs, or from his grasp. She could now see to read; so she stirred the manuscript about until she came upon the first page. "To-morrow it will be mine.
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