The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing. Wood, joining the group, "it isn't Thames Darrell come to life again?" "It is—it is!" cried Winifred, rushing towards him, and flinging her arms round his neck,—"it is my dear—dear brother!" "Well, this is what I never expected to see," said the carpenter, wiping his eyes; "I hope I'm not dreaming! Thames, my dear boy, as soon as Winny has done with you, let me embrace you. Ennison,” she said. Something tells me I am rushing on greater danger. What news. To a woman she might have confided; but to this man, kindly as he was, it was unthinkable.
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