“What’s that young lady’s name—girl in dark brown, stranger here?” Mr. “Yes. He was never known to err, and was as much dreaded as the jailfever in consequence. This key," he added, taking it from the boy, "was purloined from me by your father, Jack. 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. It was easy to recognize, the one thing that had stayed the same over the years.
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