Angelina's distress over these mischances was pathetic. Wood, in his Sunday habiliments and Sunday buckle. " "Didn't the natives have a name for you?" She blushed. If he adhered to this policy—to keep away from her inconspicuously—she would forget the name by night, and to-morrow even the bearer of it would sink below the level of recollection. Her eyes were perhaps a little brighter than usual, the firelight played about her hair, there seemed to him to be a sudden softening of the straight firm mouth. It appeared highly probable to her that he would stop her allowance. He turned to observe what this object was that had so unexpectedly diverted the young man's attention. Give me that precious charge," he added, snatching the bundle from Wood.
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