Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. 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. This was enough for the poor widow. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property (trademark/copyright) agreement. Think better of it. ” He turned upon her almost fiercely. “You will have some tea?” she asked. “I will not intrude upon you further.
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