" "Dear mother, don't say so," returned Winifred. The smells of skewered fennel, roast chicken, and broiled pheasant saturated the air, and she could smell other wonderful aromas about them. Kneebone made no effort to check the unreasonable merriment of his companions, but rather seemed to encourage it. Winifred listened to his narration with the profoundest attention; and, when it concluded, her tearful eye and throbbing bosom told how deeply her feelings had been interested. She was chic, distinguished, unusual. ’ ‘Comment?’ she demanded with some heat. And then the fetters, which were still upon his legs:—how was he to get rid of them? Tired and dispirited, he still wandered on.
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