“Yet it is my last evening, and I think —if you are sure that you would like to have me—that I will risk it. “It is from his brother in Paris. Wood fancied he recognised. She opened it and imbibed. ‘Oh, peste. You have taken even my knife. " "Ay, marry," replied Wood, with a look that seemed to say that he did not think it required any surprising skill in the art of divination to predict the doom of the individual in question; but whatever opinion he might entertain, he contented himself with inquiring into the grounds of the conjuror's evil augury respecting the infant.
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