Winifred listened to his narration with the profoundest attention; and, when it concluded, her tearful eye and throbbing bosom told how deeply her feelings had been interested. “I remember,” she said, “that the first night I saw you, you spoke of my sister as your friend. Do you know whoso portrait this is?" "I do not," replied Thames, repressing his tears, "but I believe it to be the portrait of my father. But I don’t think she lays hold of one so. He swore when I tried to get it out with the ladle, and told me what it said. "Well?" he whispered. Disperse in every direction.
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