It is what I have done. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. It was fortunate that by this time Winifred had so far recovered, as to be able to afford her father the best and only solace that, under the circumstances, he could have received,—her personal attentions. There used to be an after deckhouse and a shallow well for the wheel; but I changed that. "The Chevalier shall hear of this," whispered the woollen-draper.
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