A film of dust lay upon it; the ink marks were ancient. It is different. Winifred listened to his narration with the profoundest attention; and, when it concluded, her tearful eye and throbbing bosom told how deeply her feelings had been interested. According to what I’ve heard, you oughtn’t to be here. You were content, and I came to thrive on your happiness. “He must never know,” she would whisper to herself, “he must never know. She came in now with an air of reserved solicitude. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere.
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