But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. If hopeless love for her made me a robber, it has also saved me many a crime. \" Cathy beamed. " "Wood's daughter, I suppose?" observed the other. The shouts drew nearer, and lights were seen flashing ruddily against the sides and gables of the neighbouring houses. "Because it's not like you," was her answer. Wood in the deepest mourning. The future? He dared not speculate upon that. ‘It must be painful. " "Blessings upon him!" cried Lady Trafford, fervently. " He did not reply. He smiled tenderly.
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