"Come to me!" cried the poor maniac, who had crawled as far as the chain would permit her,—"come to me!" she cried, extending her thin arm towards him. ‘Jacques, you have been very much my friend. Dare we look back upon the darkened vista, and, in imagination retrace the path we have trod? With how many vain hopes is it shaded! with how many good resolutions, never fulfilled, is it paved! Where are the dreams of ambition in which, twelve years ago, we indulged? Where are the aspirations that fired us—the passions that consumed us then? Has our success in life been commensurate with our own desires—with the anticipations formed of us by others? Or, are we not blighted in heart, as in ambition? Has not the loved one been estranged by doubt, or snatched from us by the cold hand of death? Is not the goal, towards which we pressed, further off than ever—the prospect before us cheerless as the blank behind?—Enough of this. "Very well, Mr. Lucy sat in back of Jane Lenihan, who never spoke to her. Her eyes were lit with mirth, the corners of her mouth quivered. " "Hear me, Blueskin," said Jonathan, restraining his choler. Put your arms around her and tell her you love her. " The detective ruefully inspected the scarlet band on his perfecto. Tell me that you are not sorry to see me again.
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