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Sc. He was leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand. Now, he must have folks somewhere. “Do YOU go across the Park?” “Not usually. “Lucy. I’ve just finished my first symphony!” He said proudly. There was the stile on which Jonathan had sat, and he recollected distinctly the effect of his mocking glance— how it had hardened his heart against his mother's prayer. Wood bore up with great fortitude against the shock, attended the inquest, delivered his evidence with composure, and gave directions afterwards for the funeral, which took place on the day but one following—Sunday. "But pray tell me if her husband has escaped?" "Her husband!" echoed Jonathan scornfully. Poor fellow! he sometimes indulges the hope of marrying you, when he grows old enough.
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