"Here, Poll, help me!" Thus exhorted, Mrs. He came to her and stood before her, waiting, the morning light dazzling his eyes. “Stay where you are for a moment,” she directed. " "That was my doing, dearest," urged the carpenter; "I was afraid if you saw her that some such scene as this might occur. As she danced there was in her ears the faded echo of wooden tom-toms. ” He kissed her, and handed her into the carriage. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. Montague Hill. Tears started to the young man's eyes on beholding the change, and it was with difficulty he could command himself sufficiently to make the inquiries he desired to do respecting the former owner of the house. . .
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