” “It is for your good—your good only I am thinking,” he declared. He was a bad dog; he knew it perfectly; but where there was laughter, there was hope. ” He said. Sometimes a whole morning would pass without Spurlock uttering a word beyond the request for a drink of water. “No doubt about that, I fancy,” Meddoes answered lightly. Winifred's features would have been pretty, for they were regular and delicately formed, if they had not been slightly marked by the small-pox;—a disorder, that sometimes spares more than it destroys, and imparts an expression to be sought for in vain in the smoothest complexion. It made her laugh, which in turn made him laugh. A little darling? Lord in heaven, he had taken leave of his senses.
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