” She said, embarrassed. “It is very good of you to come and see me, my dear sister,” Annabel remarked, throwing herself into a low chair, and clasping her hands over her head. Winifred's face had a thoroughly amiable look. Winifred's features would have been pretty, for they were regular and delicately formed, if they had not been slightly marked by the small-pox;—a disorder, that sometimes spares more than it destroys, and imparts an expression to be sought for in vain in the smoothest complexion. I was ready to wager that your name would have marched with one of them. She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant. Kneebone assured her that he did say so; and, as a further proof of his sincerity, squeezed her hand very warmly under the table. Then she sang. Besides, she had admitted her identity. “I am going,” he said, “to be impertinent. I believe I’m the only sane member of the family left. She liked the animated eagerness of his manner.
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