She arrived about nine o’clock the next evening in a state of tremulous enthusiasm. Old and dilapidated, the widow's domicile looked the very picture of desolation and misery. Mike knocked on the door. "Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom. His tone was kind and sympathetic. She was herself conscious of a recklessness of spirits almost hysterical. On the north stood the battlements of one of the towers of the gate.
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