The Well Hole 336 XIII. She occupied a small sofa, a little apart, a ruddy-complexioned gentleman some years her senior beside her, and glanced about with an air of considerable unease. Taken altogether, his physiognomy resembled one of those vagabond heads which Murillo delighted to paint, and for which Guzman d'Alfarache, Lazarillo de Tormes, or Estevanillo Gonzalez might have sat:—faces that almost make one in love with roguery, they seem so full of vivacity and enjoyment. ” “As long as you remain under my roof—” he began, and paused. “But you yourself,” she exclaimed, glancing into his face, “you too look tired. A wave of pity went over him—pity for the patient, the girl, and his friend.
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