" "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. ’ “Crude, I admit. ‘Then it must certainly be Eugénie. She wondered wildly why she had stood up. He noted that she was fully dressed, that her hair was carefully done, that there was a knotted ribbon around her throat. It is abominable—” “What is the use of keeping up this note of indignation, Ann Veronica? Here I am! I am your lover, burning for you.
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