Her safety lay in pretense—that what she saw was as a tale twice told. "You'd better surrender quietly, Jack," he cried; "you've no chance. “I knew,” she said, in a low despairing tone, “that people would talk. In spite of the tumultuous joy which agitated him, the bridegroom could not prevent the intrusion of some saddening thoughts, as he reflected upon the melancholy scene which he had so recently witnessed in the same place. “You are an impostor. I cannot be intimate—’ stressing the word with a deep look ‘— with one I feel to be a stranger. What better way to be rid of him? ‘Jacques,’ she uttered urgently.
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