The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me. These joyful bounds just lace into the stuff of my memories and stay there forever. But it was not so ordered. O'Higgins returned to town and made a night of it, nothing very wild, nothing very desperate. She meant to go, she meant to go, she meant to go. Say I will come to him. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry.
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