"Ah! Owen Wood, is it you?" cried David in astonishment. One might have said that these trees grieved for their native soil; and, grieving, refused to bear. It’s a lake among precipices, and there is a little inn where we can stay, and sit and eat our dinner at a pleasant table that looks upon the lake. “Does he know that I am involved with someone?” “Of course he knows. “Mind my smoking?” said Roddy. “So am I the jewel or the bug inside?” He smiled. For five minutes he has been trying to think of something to say. “A new admirer, Annabel? But what has that to do with your going to England?” “Everything! He is Sir John Ferringhall—very stupid, very respectable, very egotistical. You know not what a wretched guilty thing I am. He sat down on the sill of the open window, folded his arms, and stared straight before him for a long time over the wilderness of tiles and chimney-pots into a sky that was blue and empty. Her eyes were lit with mirth, the corners of her mouth quivered. While the girl kept the patient from dwelling upon his misfortunes, whatever these were, he himself would have to keep the girl from brooding over hers.
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