"You'd have hit it off better if you'd called her The Sow. "I loved you," replied Jack,—"don't start—it is over now—I loved you, I say, as a boy. I'm almost sorry your suspicions are unfounded, if your father in any way resembled you, my youngster. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. Somebody tricked you back yonder—baited you for spite. And probably the girl would wear herself out, too.
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