Now Owen Wood had one fair child, Unlike her mother, meek and mild; Her love the draper strove to gain, But she repaid him with disdain. Would to God I had. All the turnkeys rose to salute the thief-taker, whose habitually-sullen countenance looked gloomier than usual. Books; an inexplicable hunger to be satisfied. “Who from?” She met his eye for a second and her heart failed her. The sky was cloudless, effulgent blue. She could have dined alone in her room; but courage had demanded that she face the ordeal and have done with it. He was brooding over her, she could sense it, and the shadowy circles around his lovely dark eyes bespoke a terrible ongoing insomnia.
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