She had braved all obstacles to pursue her dream. Her aunt returned before the packing was done, and Ann Veronica lunched with an uneasy sense of bag and hold-all packed up-stairs and inadequately hidden from chance intruders by the valance of the bed. Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. "Rather cramped, eh?" "Rather so, Sir," replied the other, altering his position. "If this document is correct," continued Wood, "and I am persuaded it is so,— you are as unfortunate as wicked. "Stay!" interposed Jonathan. Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. No one had lived here since old man Remenham had died some eighteen months ago, for the heir, so it was rumoured, was a relative with property of his own. She read beautifully because the fixed form of the poem signified nothing.
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