"Ah! Owen Wood, is it you?" cried David in astonishment. "The key," replied the widow. But did Gerald trouble himself about her? No. He lived on the seventh floor behind a winding set of hallways that towered over her in their grayness. The destroying angel hurried by, shrouded in his gloomiest apparel. As soon, however, as the last solemn rites were over, and the remains of the unfortunate woman committed to their final resting-place in Willesden churchyard, his firmness completely deserted him, and he sank beneath the weight of his affliction. I wish”— she found she had embarked on a bad sentence—“I wish we needn’t have quarrelled. " "That's reasonable.
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