He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. Sheppard, passing her hand across her brow; "but my memory is gone—quite gone. And it has been well for you that he imagines the child was drowned. There is nothing but your pride which stands between us. ‘Gérard, you are a great fool. " "Loved me! You!" "I loved you," continued Jonathan, "and struck by your appearance, which seemed above your station, inquired your history, and found you had been stolen by a gipsy in Lancashire.
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