She speedily reached her own abode,—a little cottage, standing in the outskirts of the village. "I didn't carry you off from old Wood to kill you, but to wed you. "Trenchard," he muttered; "Aliva Trenchard—they were right, then, as to the name. I love your very breath. She wondered wildly why she had stood up. ‘Laisse-moi!’ Impatience swamped him. It had been discussed in silence. "Perhaps," replied Wood, doubtfully. It rained heavily all day, so he did not stir forth.
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