This farewell had been particularly distasteful to him. "It is", seplied Winifred; "have you brought any tidings of Thames Darrell!" "Troth have I!" replied Terence: "but, bless your angilic face, how did you contrive to guess that?" "Is he well?—is he safe?—is he coming back," cried the little girl, disregarding the question. There is something that inspires a feeling of inexpressible melancholy in sailing on a dark night upon the Thames. His job as a painter was wearing him down acutely as he aged.
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