But I said I wouldn't drive a hard bargain with you, and I won't. ‘Lord,’ Gerald uttered, his inexplicable annoyance evaporating. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. My arm's nearly well again. All that was needed to complete the simile was that the girl should burst into song. "To him I owe everything," continued the widow, "life itself—nay, more than life,—for without his assistance I should have perished, body and soul. ” His arms were around her. All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shattered themselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them.
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