Wait!" He released himself from his aunt's embrace, ran to the trunk and fetched the old coat. E. Wood, leaping from the bed. Lights gleamed from the lower rooms, and, on a nearer approach to the building, the sound of revelry might be heard from within. " "No. \" Lucy shook her hand. Wood's dwelling,—a plain, substantial, commodious farm-house. The chief of these was a figure of Liberty, with a cat at her feet, in allusion to the supposed origin of the fortunes of its former founder, Sir Richard Whittington. One thing—he could be thankful for that—the peak of his misfortunes had been reached; the world might come to an end now and not matter in the least. The intoxicating sense of novelty had given place to a more business-like mood. I fancy that Sir John does not approve of me. Wasn't the river beautiful under the moonlight?" "We did not leave our cabins. “Does he never speak to you of—of old times?” she faltered.
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