” A fair-haired young Englishman looked up from the depths of his easy chair. She wanted to turn him. We may meet—who can tell? But I will not be fettered, even though you would make the chains of roses. Prudence reminded him that he was a county magistrate, and parliamentary candidate for a somewhat difficult borough, where his principal supporters were dissenters of strict principles who took a zealous interest in his moral character. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. " "It may be; but if it shortens the distance and lightens the journey, I care not," retorted the widow, who seemed by this reproach to be roused into sudden eloquence. But the clearly definite thing was the ultimate escape.
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