The island castle at Port Herculis had been part of the trade off, all to be kept as quiet as the circumstances of her second marriage and her “suicide”. The young male, as she had actually seen him, had been of the sailor type, hard-bitten, primordial, ruthless. Dare we look back upon the darkened vista, and, in imagination retrace the path we have trod? With how many vain hopes is it shaded! with how many good resolutions, never fulfilled, is it paved! Where are the dreams of ambition in which, twelve years ago, we indulged? Where are the aspirations that fired us—the passions that consumed us then? Has our success in life been commensurate with our own desires—with the anticipations formed of us by others? Or, are we not blighted in heart, as in ambition? Has not the loved one been estranged by doubt, or snatched from us by the cold hand of death? Is not the goal, towards which we pressed, further off than ever—the prospect before us cheerless as the blank behind?—Enough of this. At least, you are one, and I am disguised like one. "Now come along, Jack.
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