. Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. It was a great weight from her shoulders to confide in another human being, and she suspected he did truly believe her. The one fault, indeed, of this school of fiction for him was that it had rather a light way with parental rights. Notwithstanding her emaciation, her features still retained something of a pleasing expression, and might have been termed beautiful, had it not been for that repulsive freshness of lip denoting the habitual dram-drinker; a freshness in her case rendered the more shocking from the almost livid hue of the rest of her complexion. ‘I live in Kent.
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