“But, my love,” still remonstrated Wood, “you know I’m going to look after the boys——­”

“After Mrs. Sheppard, you mean, Sir,” interrupted his wife, ironically.  “Don’t think to deceive me by your false pretences.  Marry, come up!  I’m not so easily deluded.  Sit down, I command you.  Winny, show the person into this room.  I’ll see her myself; and that’s more than she bargained for, I’ll be sworn.”

Finding it useless to struggle further, Mr. Wood sank, submissively, into a chair, while his daughter hastened to execute her arbitrary parent’s commission.

“At length, I have my wish,” continued Mrs. Wood, regarding her husband with a glance of vindictive triumph.  “I shall behold the shameless hussy, face to face; and, if I find her as good-looking as she’s represented, I don’t know what I’ll do in the end; but I’ll begin by scratching her eyes out.”

In this temper, it will naturally be imagined, that Mrs. Wood’s reception of the widow, who, at that moment, was ushered into the room by Winifred, was not particularly kind and encouraging.  As she approached, the carpenter’s wife eyed her from head to foot, in the hope of finding something in her person or apparel to quarrel with.  But she was disappointed.  Mrs. Sheppard’s dress—­extremely neat and clean, but simply fashioned, and of the plainest and most unpretending material,—­offered nothing assailable; and her demeanour was so humble, and her looks so modest, that—­if she had been ill-looking—­she might, possibly, have escaped the shafts of malice preparing to be levelled against her.  But, alas! she was beautiful—­and beauty is a crime not to be forgiven by a jealous woman.

As the lapse of time and change of circumstances have wrought a remarkable alteration in the appearance of the poor widow, it may not be improper to notice it here.  When first brought under consideration, she was a miserable and forlorn object; squalid in attire, haggard in looks, and emaciated in frame.  Now, she was the very reverse of all this.  Her dress, it has just been said, was neatness and simplicity itself.  Her figure, though slight, had all the fulness of health; and her complexion—­still pale, but without its former sickly cast,—­contrasted agreeably, by its extreme fairness, with the dark brows and darker lashes that shaded eyes which, if they had lost some of their original brilliancy, had gained infinitely more in the soft and chastened lustre that replaced it.  One marked difference between the poor outcast, who, oppressed by poverty, and stung by shame, had sought temporary relief in the stupifying draught,—­that worst “medicine of a mind diseased,”—­and those of the same being, freed from her vices, and restored to comfort and contentment, if not to happiness, by a more prosperous course of events, was exhibited in the mouth.  For the fresh and feverish hue of lip which years ago characterised this feature, was now substituted a pure and wholesome bloom, evincing a total change