“Who’ll mind the baby nar?” was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent. She made no attempt to answer her sister’s question. Opening a pair of large black eyes, the child fixed them for an instant upon Wood, and then, alarmed by the light, uttered a low and melancholy cry, which, however, was speedily stilled by the caresses of his mother, towards whom he extended his tiny arms, as if imploring protection. It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections. Words were given with their original meaning, without their ramifications. He tried this sentence with expletives. He is big and powerful; one of those drinkers who show it but little outwardly. Tell me why you ran away from the convent.
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