One cannot trust any man at all. So Mrs. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. It was a unique experience for her to wash him. The tables were then cleared. It had been cut down before life was extinct, but a ball from one of the soldiers had pierced his heart. CHAPTER II. In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut. Her cheeks flushed a dull red. "I told you that before," rejoined Wood, testily.
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