"I cannot part with him," replied the widow, bursting into tears; "indeed, indeed, I cannot. ‘What else do you expect? It’s the penalty you pay for marrying an Englishman. Jackson’s. Both started. She got up, drew up her blind, and stared out of window at a dawn-cold vision of chimneys for a time, and then went and sat on the edge of her bed. “We were bound to do this when you kissed me,” she sobbed through her tears. “No, no,” she cried. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. The spring can't be opened on this side.
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