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Guiding this man of hers over the troubled sea of life had engraved these lines. Nature is God, Anna, and the greatest artist of us all a pigmy. She took to listening through closed doors. "Do not despair, my sweet soul," said Wood, in a soothing tone. But at this, he halted, turning his frowning gaze back on her. He kissed her again. And then the fetters, which were still upon his legs:—how was he to get rid of them? Tired and dispirited, he still wandered on. Wood uttered something like an imprecation. "There," cried Jackson, closing the book and rising, "that'll do. She tried to compose her thoughts, to think of the last six months, to steep herself in the calm beauty of the surroundings. "Jack is just gone back to the Condemned Hold.
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