It was not possible. "If Jack would come to my house, I'd contrive to hide him," remarked a buxom dame. She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping. Wood's ear, whispered, "secret agents from France—you understand—friends to the cause—hem!" "I see,—persons of rank!" Mr. Even Capes had been for her merely an excitant to passionate love—a mere idol at whose feet one could enjoy imaginative wallowings. . ‘Mademoiselle,’ he had greeted her, entering the little private parlour where, Martha being at prayer in their room, she sat alone, reading over and over the letter Mother Abbess had given her and revolving plans in her head. What a frightened fool he was! If he could not remember her name, it was equally possible that already she had forgotten his. "Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom.
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