‘Precisely,’ agreed Gerald. ‘I thought as how it couldn’t do no harm, and as it turns out, it done me a bit of good. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. Both advanced towards it, when, by the light of the lantern, Wood beheld, in the countenance of the stranger, the well-remembered and stern features of Rowland. In spite of the tumultuous joy which agitated him, the bridegroom could not prevent the intrusion of some saddening thoughts, as he reflected upon the melancholy scene which he had so recently witnessed in the same place. Wood. We tolerate you for your genius, that's a fact. She knew it.
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