We may meet—who can tell? But I will not be fettered, even though you would make the chains of roses. Their conversation was conducted in the flash language, and, though unintelligible to Wood, was easily comprehended by this companion, who learnt, to her dismay, that the wounded man had received his hurt from her son, whose courage and dexterity formed the present subject of their discourse. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. “Who took care of you after she died?” “My father. ’ ‘Why should you care?’ demanded Roding, exasperated. She allowed herself to be ejected, therefore, and retired to the parlour after cleansing the blood from her hands and her own slight wound in the kitchen. " "Mother be——!" returned Jack.
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