" "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. ‘Don’t dare call her that to my face. " Jack would not hazard a glance at Winifred; but, quitting the church, got into an adjoining meadow, and watched the party slowly ascending the road leading to Dollis Hill. “My God! Ann Veronica,” he said, struggling to keep his hold upon her; “my God! Tell me—tell me now—tell me you love me!” His expression was as it were rapaciously furtive. The gale had become a hurricane: that hurricane was the most terrible that ever laid waste our city. She was always the last person to exit after the crowds had stampeded, trailing slowly behind them like dust. “If he is not here now I can make myself safe.
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