I had a sort of idea,” he went on, “that you were starting life all over again, and it seemed awfully plucky. And we won’t make it so. Aha!" he continued, producing a short silver staff, which he carried constantly about with him, and uttering a terrible imprecation, "I see you're confounded. It may be treacherous, it may lay up a store of future woe; but it insures present happiness, and that is sufficient. He had been ill; no matter about that: he recollected every thought that had led up to it and every act that had consummated the deed. His eyes caught at hers with passionate inquiries. He next searched for his stockings and shoes, and when found, put them on.
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