She pulled down her veil and made her way to the door. "This must be prevented," he added to himself. From head to foot he was attired in the fashionable garb of the young man of the moment. Wood's favourite sitting-room, and her image was so intimately associated with it, neither the carpenter nor his daughter could muster courage to enter it before. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. He played variations on this theme for the better part of an hour. Ten thousand islands, and each one good for a night's rest. Perhaps at the first blush—it strikes you as odd.
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