Wood's favourite sitting-room, and her image was so intimately associated with it, neither the carpenter nor his daughter could muster courage to enter it before. He relayed many details of the location and the beautiful rivers of her home, a subject she never tired of. “Do you know, I have been wondering what had become of you,” she said. Before Wood had time to inquire into the cause of this sound, his attention was diverted by a man, who rushed past the entry with the swiftness of desperation. And, in spite of the boy's resistance, he plunged his hands into his pockets, and drew forth the miniature. “Eight, Cavendish Square. "Was I out of my head?" "Yes. They heard his footsteps descending the stone staircase, growing fainter and fainter. “I don’t know, John.
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