And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching. She was with these movements—akin to them, she felt it at times intensely—and yet something eluded her. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. Sheppard, passing her hand across her brow; "but my memory is gone—quite gone. I shall not part with you again.
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