" He rose for fear she might touch him again. Lucy kicked her side, then her wounded leg, dislodging her. The procession had just got into line of march, when a dreadful groan, mixed with yells, hootings, and execrations, was heard. Jackson: "ha! ha!" "Not in the least, Ma'am," echoed Mr. Wood. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. I'm sorry. " "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. . ’ A wary look came over her face, and Roding intervened.
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