Vexation at his folly in suffering himself to be thus entrapped kept Wood for a short time silent. " "I know you'll contradict it, Sir," said the widow, looking at Wood as if she dreaded to have her fears confirmed,—"I know you will. I could not keep away any longer. “I never saw Courtlaw with her—never heard her speak of him. Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her. The call of youth to youth, and we name it love for want of something better: a glamorous, evanescent thing "like snow upon the desert's dusty face, lighting a little hour or two, was gone.
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