Vexation at his folly in suffering himself to be thus entrapped kept Wood for a short time silent. It had not tasted good since 1350. Wood's daughter,—to whom, I've heard tell, he was attached years ago,—was brought up, his courage forsook him altogether, and he trembled, and could scarcely stand. Not wisely but too well. They seemed the most wrapped things in all Ann Veronica’s wrappered world. “I trust,” he said, “that you will recognize the justice of these conditions. But let that verse tell my secret. '" "'This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea. “All right so far,” she said to herself.
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