"Not so, Sir Rowland," returned Jonathan; "you are my prisoner. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. " "But not for me," growled Terence, in an under tone. Behind the poet came Sir James Thornhill. . Poor fellow! he sometimes indulges the hope of marrying you, when he grows old enough. This structure at once satisfied him as to where he stood. “You poor child!” he said; “don’t you see the infinite folly of these proceedings? Think! Think of the love and affection you abandon! Think of your aunt, a second mother to you.
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