“I”—he seemed to have a difficulty with the word—“I love you. There is no Heaven for your mother. ’ ‘Ah, but I have a special reason for doing so this time. And at the thought of that other lover—he was convinced that that beloved person was a lover, and she found herself unable to say a word to explain to him that this other person, the person she loved, did not even know of her love—Ramage grew angry and savage once more, and returned suddenly to gibe and insult. "Ah! Owen Wood, is it you?" cried David in astonishment. This spot, which still retains its name, acquired the appellation from an old crone who lived there, and who, in addition to a very equivocal character for honesty, enjoyed the reputation of being a witch. The oranges were of the Syrian variety, small but filled with scarlet honey.
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