The girl was pretty, and apparently a lady. " "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. " "That is a far more agreeable one, I must confess," returned Kneebone, with a self-sufficient smirk. “I have to go out. She said that your mother was only fifteen when she went to live with them. It was noon when the caravan reached the tower of the water-clock. . Poor girl! she was beautiful once; so beautiful as to make me, who care little for the allurements of women, fancy myself enamoured of her. I don’t know.
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