" "None whatever," rejoined Wild. He bowed awkwardly to Mrs. E. F. Her complexion was wan and faded, except where it was tinged by a slight hectic flush, that made the want of colour more palpable; her eyes were large and black, but heavy and lustreless; her cheeks sunken; her frame emaciated; her dark hair thickly scattered with gray. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. Wood with the circumstances, and putting him upon his guard against the possibility of an attack. People were passing in the street below. Horrible details recurred to her. It is the old story of a Westerner meddling with an Eastern custom. No; she'd never go back.
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