"Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom. I want to talk to you, and I must return tomorrow. In the centre of the upper gallery was a spacious saloon, appropriated to the governors of the asylum. Don’t say anything, she thought to herself, say nothing more, Martin. He leaned forward to better drink her in. . Hell's curses! that after all my precautions I should be thus entrapped. "I would sacrifice all my fortune—all my hopes —to liberate him. The fellow is little better than a lunatic. I want to know more about her. ” “What do you mean—by too late?” he demanded. His salvation—if there was to be any—lay in her ignorance of life.
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