"Speak out—don't be alarmed," said Wood, in a kind and encouraging tone. “I didn’t know you objected to him, daddy. ‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield. I’m that shamed to confess it, miss, but it were then I thought of Martha. You'll never be guided by me—never!" "Indeed, my love, you're entirely mistaken," returned the carpenter, endeavouring to deprecate his wife's rising resentment by the softest looks, and the meekest deportment. ‘You are wise, Marthe. “Perhaps for me,” she added, with a sudden wistful look out of the bare high window, “a night of beginnings.
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