Oh Dear! A Drunken Infidel Weaver! Said

Wearily She Went To Bed, Wearily She Arose In Four Or Five Hours' Time. But With The Morning Came Hope, And A Brighter View Of Things.

Again, Stepping Nearer, He Besought Her With Another Tremulous Eager Call Upon Her Name. 'margaret!' Still Lower Went The Head; More Closely Hidden Was The Face, Almost Resting On The Table Before Her. He Came Close To Her. He Knelt By Her Side, To Bring His Face To A Level With Her Ear; And Whispered-panted Out The Words: — 'take Care. — If You Do Not Speak — I Shall Claim You As My Own In Some Strange Presumptuous Way.

But Suppose It Was Truth Double Strong, It Were No Truth To Me If I Couldna Take It In. I Daresay There's Truth In Yon Latin Book On Your Shelves; But It's Gibberish And No Truth To Me, Unless I Know The Meaning O' The Words.

I Have Passed Out Of Childhood Into Old Age. I Have Had No Youth - No Womanhood; The Hopes Of Womanhood Have Closed For Me - For I Shall Never Marry; And I Anticipate Cares And Sorrows Just As If I Were An Old Woman, And With The Same Fearful Spirit.

She Stood By The Tea-table In A Light-coloured Muslin Gown, Which Had A Good Deal Of Pink About It. She Looked As If She Was Not Attending To The Conversation, But Solely Busy With The Tea-cups, Among Which Her Round Ivory Hands Moved With Pretty, Noiseless, Daintiness.