And if the woman is not a rival, she must be—yes, that must be it. All this was the work of a minute. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. "I told you the prison wasn't built that could hold me," cried Jack. During the narration Jack's features lighted up, and an expression, which would have been in vain looked for in repose, was instantly caught and depicted by the skilful artist. " "Then, I'm quite easy," cried Winifred, joyfully. ” Sheila snarled.
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