The woman I wanted was another man's wife. Wood's daughter,—to whom, I've heard tell, he was attached years ago,—was brought up, his courage forsook him altogether, and he trembled, and could scarcely stand. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. The events that had initially followed in the wake of her triumph over Emile Gosse had quite confused and dazed her. Upon this, Jack earnestly and eloquently addressed himself to the bench, and besought that a petition which he had prepared to be laid before the King might be read. He tried to make love to me. Old Jersey and Hampshire family, the Pellissiers, and a capital stock, too, I believe. He thanked God for this talent of his. I did what I could to comfort her but she died in terrible pain. But for him she might have been alive and happy.
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