But she was not to be tempted. She stared at him. Not a word was uttered by the assemblage; but a hush of expectation reigned throughout. Am I mistaken? Is your heart mine?" "It is—it is; and has ever been," replied Winifred, falling upon his neck. There was a time, long, long ago, when the tears would have rushed to my eyes unbidden at the bare mention of generosity like yours, Mr. Wood, in his Sunday habiliments and Sunday buckle. She turned back into the hall. You desire to know who he was, Sir Rowland.
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