Poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!" Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,—deathlike and deep. “You little wretch!” she exclaimed weakly. ‘And so you sneak back,’ she threw at him, ‘like the jackal that you are. “And I’m not happy. Jackson smiled and put on the air of a man who knows more than he cares to tell. And if I cared to have him come every day, why shouldn’t he? I find him very amusing and very useful as well. Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place.
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