"My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. " On quitting the Lodge, Wild repaired to his own habitation. A. . Wood, I forget nothing. "It is never too late. The more her thoughts dwelt upon the subject, the more convinced she was that she could not go to any one for help; she would have to solve the riddle by her own efforts, by some future experience. ‘Yes, th-there it is,’ she uttered, stumbling a little over the words. ” He referred to a sheet of paper by his side. Spurling attended him as his nurse, and, under her care, he speedily revived. "Why do you ask?" rejoined the other haughtily.
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