But once he had steered the lady down the hall and along a passage to a window seat at the end, he abandoned the subject of society. "This gentleman brings us tidings of an old friend, my dear," said the carpenter. He had fallen off when trying to tie down his aluminum paint ladder. Winifred's features would have been pretty, for they were regular and delicately formed, if they had not been slightly marked by the small-pox;—a disorder, that sometimes spares more than it destroys, and imparts an expression to be sought for in vain in the smoothest complexion. "To him I owe everything," continued the widow, "life itself—nay, more than life,—for without his assistance I should have perished, body and soul. ” “Anything except that,” he murmured.
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