"I loved you," replied Jack,—"don't start—it is over now—I loved you, I say, as a boy. The thought of you, wandering from pillar to post, believing yourself hunted—it tore my old heart to pieces! For I knew you. Wood the best of wives. “I do not know you,” she said coldly. Conceiving himself called upon, as the intimate friend of the deceased, to pay this last tribute of respect to her memory, he appeared as one of the chief mourners. “I will come—with pleasure,” she said, “if you will promise to treat me as a new acquaintance—not to refer to—Paris—at all. The angels in Heaven shall not tear you from me.
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