If Jack should die, all though her fault, she could never forgive herself. He wiped the sweat from his chin and forehead. "May I beg to know whom I've the pleasure of adressing? Jackson, I conclude, is merely an assumed name. Wood, whose loss I shall ever deplore. "I had one," answered his sister, in a mournful voice; "and, perhaps, I have one still. For the first time that day, she was finally able to look into his face. Had romance to be banished from life?. " "Very well, Sir," replied Sheppard. I am a man—of a sort of experience.
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