She heard her husband’s heavy tread descending the stairs, and the wheels of his carriage as he drove off. There had been disappointments and humiliations, and although she hated to admit it even to herself, she was in desperate straits. 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. I’ll be waiting for you outside. "If you've done wrong, confess it, and I'll forgive you!" "I don't deserve to be forgiven!" returned Jack, bursting into tears; "for I'm afraid I've done very wrong.
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