He looked no longer at his wife. Perhaps I've been mad all these years; I don't know. “No!” she exclaimed. There had been fusses and scenes dimly apprehended through half-open doors. Two women entered and sat down at the adjoining table. For hours after she had not been sensible to life, only to exquisite echoes. Purney, the ordinary, who had latterly conceived a great regard for Jack, addressed him in a discourse, which, while it tended to keep alive his feelings of penitence, was calculated to afford him much consolation. Sheppard, clasping him with a hand that burnt with fever, "I have been ill—dreadfully ill—I believe delirious—I thought I should have died last night—I won't tell you what agony you have caused me—I won't reproach you.
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