"Not so;" answered Wild. “If I had three hands,” she said, with a faint smile, “I would give one to each of you. " "Not unless your skull's bullet-proof," cried a voice at his elbow; and, as the words were uttered, a pistol was snapped at his head, which,—fortunately or unfortunately, as the reader pleases,—only burnt the priming. "Good bye, Jack! Keep up your spirits. So I undertook to protect her by keeping love out of her life, by crushing it whenever it appeared, obliterating it. ‘Tell me, my boy. She pulled his shirt from its tucked belted state and snaked her hands around his waist. It would have been very well if she had been some common creature who might have been bought off.
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