" "Liar!" cried Jack. For the past four weeks mirrors had been her delight, a new toy. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. "Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?" "You're not dreaming, mother," he answered. "Oh, God! would you take him from me?— would you murder him?" "His father's name?—and he is free," rejoined Rowland, holding her arms. "Don't leave him, if you're at all fearful, my dear," replied Wood, receiving the little burthen with a laugh. Had he been listening inside? ‘What is amiss?’ ‘That Frenchie, sir. I found it on the beach, just sitting there nestled inside a piece of driftwood.
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