"Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom. Away off in the fields the bluesmocked peasants bent still at their toil. " "Never fear," replied Thames, taking up his hat. Many a black veil hid a high-born dame, and the religious habit was no protection. ’ The lady’s face came round, a puzzled frown on her brow. ’ Melusine blinked at this competence. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle.
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