The winter of 1348 seemed to last an eternity, but the Pestilence struck in one day. Winifred's features would have been pretty, for they were regular and delicately formed, if they had not been slightly marked by the small-pox;—a disorder, that sometimes spares more than it destroys, and imparts an expression to be sought for in vain in the smoothest complexion. She guessed Jack was having trouble finding the right piece of carving. "You didn't spend it?" "I never intended to spend it—any more than I really intended to steal it. Sheppard, passionately,—"he has my boundless gratitude, and devotion. "Is it you?" "It is," replied her son, "Oh! why would you not listen to me?" "I was distracted," replied Mrs. "I assure you, Sir, when I left him an hour ago, it was locked.
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