"Mother—dear mother! Once again, I beseech you to listen to me. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. " "I know you'll contradict it, Sir," said the widow, looking at Wood as if she dreaded to have her fears confirmed,—"I know you will. ’ ‘Oh, a ruin,’ exclaimed Mrs Sindlesham, throwing up a hand. ’ A little sigh escaped her. “You certainly are. Am I mistaken? Is your heart mine?" "It is—it is; and has ever been," replied Winifred, falling upon his neck. Wood, was pronounced by that lady to be very much sprained; and she, forthwith, proceeded to bathe it with a reddish-coloured lotion. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother.
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