"Take it," cried Wood, holding the infant towards her; "take it, and fly. "My mother!—my poor mother!" ejaculated Thames, falling on his knees, and bursting into tears. Pottiswick’s daughter found her tongue. This was David Courtlaw, whose ways, too, had never been very different from the ways of other men as regards her sex. She knew that her voice was superior to Annabel’s, and she had no further qualms. She calmed herself, breathing deeply. After listening attentively for a short time without drawing breath, he became convinced that his apprehensions were groundless, and, greatly relieved, sat down upon the chair to rest himself and prepare for further efforts. What you say is probably all true and necessary. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping.
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