" "Well, so long as he gets on his feet in the end. " "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. ” He replied. At last he could bear it no longer. " "Your secret?" demanded Trenchard, impatiently. It did seem germane to the matter that so many of the people “in the van” were plain people, or faded people, or tired-looking people. The lad hesitated. He blushed, too, spiritually, as it were. It seemed incredible that she and her aunt were, indeed, creatures of the same blood, only by a birth or so different beings, and part of that same broad interlacing stream of human life that has invented the fauns and nymphs, Astarte, Aphrodite, Freya, and all the twining beauty of the gods.
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