"Come Bess,—no whimpering. Perhaps," she added, in a whisper, as she appropriated the beforenamed article, "he has a pocket-book. Sheppard raised her eyes, and fixed them upon her interrogator. Jack attacked Jonathan with such fury, that he drove him into a shrubbery, and might perhaps have come off the victor, if his foot had not slipped as he made a desperate lunge. Wood, regarding her husband with a glance of vindictive triumph. I can’t rest or work or settle down to anything while things are like this between you and me. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered. He had not had time to aim the pistol. It isn’t law, nor custom, nor masculine violence settled that.
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