The woollen-draper was no despicable trencherman in a general way; but his feats with the knife and fork were child's sport compared with those of Mr. Through no fault of her own. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. But while there's life there's hope. Gerald noted the lady’s eyes brighten as she caught sight of him making his way through the throng towards her. “I wonder what he takes me for?” When presently she got down from the stile a certain note of internal conflict, a touch of doubt, had gone from her warm-tinted face. Between herself and yonder evil mind she had the strongest buckler God could give—love.
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