Conceiving himself called upon, as the intimate friend of the deceased, to pay this last tribute of respect to her memory, he appeared as one of the chief mourners. " "It matters not what I think," replied Wild. If she returns to the house from which we took her, her companions will laugh at her and smother her with ridicule. “John’s here. ” He replied. But there was nothing in her bearing that a passer-by would have noted, to tell of the excitement that possessed her. So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had written the previous night, he plunged into work. He felt he was human wisdom prudentially interpolated. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms.
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