‘Come,’ she called. After partaking of some little refreshment, and changing her attire, Mrs. I love you—unendurably. The easel and palette having been packed up, and the canvass carefully removed by Austin, the party took leave of the prisoner, who was so much abstracted that he scarcely noticed their departure. "Is it you?" "It is," replied her son, "Oh! why would you not listen to me?" "I was distracted," replied Mrs. She had time in the afternoons to do crewelwork and embroidery, no longer occupied by the constant spinning of wool. The mock astonishment of his face immediately became genuine.
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