” She said. Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance. “That is your sister’s name. One of these, a lady, evidently a confirmed invalid, and attired in deep mourning, reclined upon a sort of couch, or easy chair, set on wheels, with her head supported by cushions, and her feet resting upon a velvet footstool. ” He looked at Lucy.
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