"Quite sorry, my good friend, there should have been any misunderstanding between us," observed the woollen-draper. It was a bright and beautiful day: so bright, so beautiful, that even her sad heart was cheered by it. Hastening to the spot where he had tied his horse to a tree, he vaulted into the saddle, and rode off across the fields,—for he was fearful of encountering the hostile party,—till he reached the Edgeware Road. These little squares of coloured paper interested her mightily—hotel labels. He regretted now that in his idle hours he hadn't hunted up one against the rainy day. “He was alive at four o’clock this afternoon,” she answered, “but the doctors give little hope of his recovery.
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