It was a purse. A farthing candle, stuck in a bottle neck, shed its feeble light upon the table, which, owing to the provident kindness of Mr. Wood went on fuming, and the trio went on laughing for some minutes, nobody knew why or wherefore, until the party was increased by Mr. “Married already,” he said, with his mouth full. But his daughter might well have a claim. She did not know herself. At length, however, she threw herself off; and Jack carefully guiding the rope she landed in safety. He was Julian five years younger, the spitting image. The eyes, too, though large and bright, and shaded by long lashes, seemed to betoken, as hazel eyes generally do in men, a faithless and uncertain disposition.
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