CHAPTER XVII. “Round midnight, I think. Books! She knew now what had saved her—her mother's hand, reaching down from heaven, had set the giver's flaming eyes upon the covers of these books. Besides these, there was a sturdylooking fellow, whom he instantly recognised as the honest blacksmith who had freed him from his irons at Tottenham. The sight of the thief-taker increased the fury of the mob to a fearful degree. She sat, crouched together, by the corner of the hearthrug under the bookcase that supported the pig’s skull, and looked into the fire and up at Ann Veronica’s face, and let herself go. " "Silly love stories?" "No; love wasn't the theme. ” “Well, you can’t say you’re a failure there,” Lady Lescelles remarked, smiling.
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