I admit it. “I am afraid—I really think that one of us ought to go with you,” he said. Wood, in his Sunday habiliments and Sunday buckle. Her natural instincts reasserted themselves. Yet she held her tongue. I will make her my Grail, and some day, perhaps, if God wills, she shall become my wife!’” He looked very hard before him as he said this, and his voice was full of deep feeling. Left to himself, he took a survey of the room, and his heart leaped as he beheld over the, chimney-piece, a portrait of himself. “She”, you say.
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