Gerald’s thoughts raced as he reached out supporting hands and murmured meaningless phrases to soothe. Both advanced towards it, when, by the light of the lantern, Wood beheld, in the countenance of the stranger, the well-remembered and stern features of Rowland. For the past four weeks mirrors had been her delight, a new toy. “You do not quite understand,” she said gently. He had thought it might have that effect. “Your teeth are chattering! I’ll make you some hot chocolate!” Cathy cried. Here we are. It was bad luck to go to Canongate. Old thoughts, old feelings, old faces, and old scenes have returned to me, and I have fancied myself happy,—as happy as I am now.
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