“But how is it all going to end?” said Mr. 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. To walk beside him, dressed akin to him, rucksacked and companionable, was bliss in itself; each step she took was like stepping once more across the threshold of heaven. CHAPTER II. It was his particular hobby, and the leisure he had to apply to it had given him a remarkable appraising eye.
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