” “Oh, Lucy, I never have stopped thinking about you since the first day I walked you home. Passing at a glance over the whole of the intervening period; leaving in the words of the poet, —The growth untried Of that wide gap— we shall resume our narrative at the beginning of June, 1715. Never did I need a rescue so much. Peste, but everything had become difficult. Wood fancied he recognised. To-morrow I shall come and talk to you again—of other things. “Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. E. ’ The lady looked unexpectedly smug.
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