“Just leave them with me for now, Clotilde. It does not matter to him either way. My dear! we’ve had so many moments! I used to go over the times we’d had together, the things we’d said—like a rosary of beads. "Is this Misther Wudd's, my pretty miss?" demanded the rough voice of the Irish watchman. But I don't look for peace on this side the grave. It was a charming sight to watch the motions of her tiny fingers as she pursued her task; and though the posture she adopted was not the most favourable that might have been chosen for the display of her sylphlike figure, there was something in her attitude, and the glow of her countenance, lighted up by the mellow radiance of the setting sun falling upon her through the panes of the little dormer-window, that seemed to the youth inexpressibly beautiful. ‘Possibly,’ he said.
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