Don't make them poison to me.

Oh, what a morning for me when you're lost! And me, to look out on the night alone! No, no more kisses! Oh, yes, I will kiss you, dear.' Heriot said, 'Your mother was Irish, Julia.' 'Yes.

She would have loved you.' 'I 've Irish blood too.

Give me her portrait.

It 's the image of you.' 'To take away?
Walter! not to take it away ?' 'You darling! to keep me sure of you.' 'Part with my mother's portrait ?' 'Why, yes, if you love me one bit.' 'But you are younger than me, Heriot.' 'Then good-night, good-bye, Julia.' 'Walter, I will fetch it.' Heriot now told her I was below, and she looked down on me and called my name softly, sending kisses from her fingers while he gave the cause for our late return.
'Some one must be sitting up for you--are we safe ?' she said.
Heriot laughed, and pressed for the portrait.
'It is all I have.