Certainly your major—’ ‘Ah, now that’s just it, missie. You will torture yourself and torture her all through life; but in the end she will pour the wine of her faith into a sound chalice. A time may come when this little chap will need my aid, and, depend upon it, he shall never want a friend in Owen Wood. Now I shall never hear it but what this evening will come pouring back over me. In one angle of the room stood a disused fire-place, with a rusty grate and broken chimney-piece; in the other there was a sort of box, contrived between the wall and the boards, that looked like an apology for a cupboard.
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