"There's an old proverb," continued Wood, rising and walking towards the fire, "which says,—'Put another man's child in your bosom, and he'll creep out at your elbow. I once might have married you for your beauty,—now I marry you for your wealth. “But how can you?” asked Constance. “I have a special surprise for you, Lucia. Wood wound it up by a description of the drenching he had undergone at the Mint pump, the other could hold out no longer, but, leaning back in his chair, gave free scope to his merriment. A few bricks, dislodged probably by his last descent, came clattering down the chimney, and as it was perfectly dark, gave him the notion that some one was endeavouring to force an entrance into the room. The winter of 1348 seemed to last an eternity, but the Pestilence struck in one day. I love your very breath. "Something worse, I fear," Wood replied. “You will not give Sir John any cause for jealousy? You will have no secrets from him except—concerning those things which are past?” “Anna, I swear it!” her sister sobbed.
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