‘And you know, my dear, I do think you must make up your mind to beard this wretched grandfather of yours. Her patience was waning fast. We may meet—who can tell? But I will not be fettered, even though you would make the chains of roses. They returned to the castle, neither of them speaking. “I never wanted to kick any one so much in my life as that second fellow. Wood; but they never come now. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. "If this document is correct," continued Wood, "and I am persuaded it is so,— you are as unfortunate as wicked.
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