Winifred's features would have been pretty, for they were regular and delicately formed, if they had not been slightly marked by the small-pox;—a disorder, that sometimes spares more than it destroys, and imparts an expression to be sought for in vain in the smoothest complexion. He righted a chair and sat in it, his face in his hands. “This is the slavery of the veiled life. ” “And leave you here alone?” he asked, in a hoarse whisper. " Ruth did so, but without any particular fervour. A disconcerting gray eye that had a mystifying depth.
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