Out of the beaten track, far from the trails of men! He relaxed. His perception of her personal beauty deepened and quickened with each encounter. She warmed to him fast, her anger was much harder to carry than the pleasant everyday neutrality of affection. "I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. Strange, I shouldn't know him when he called on me. Alas! that the punishment of his offences should fall on her head.
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