"Not my king's," returned Wood. He's as generous as he's frolicsome. The thought of them distressed her without subtracting at all from the oceans of happiness in which she swam. Poor soul! she nearly died when she heard he had robbed his master; and it might have been well if she had done so, for she never afterwards recovered her reason. But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. “Is your husband here to-night?” he asked. His title has descended to Rowland: his estates to Aliva.
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