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Why?" "I was just wondering. "Forgive me—oh, forgive me!" "Forgive you—bless you!" she gasped. " "And I trust you will never have occasion to weep again, my poor soul," replied Wood, setting down his lantern, and brushing a few drops from his eyes, "unless it be tears of joy. ‘But can you? You don’t know Melusine for Mary Remenham’s daughter, any more than I do. Sometimes I think she’s tired of us. He was certain that those lips of hers had never known the natural and pardonable simper of youth.
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