Blotted out—Love! With infinite care, through nearly a thousand pages, her father had obliterated the word Love. This one was Henry Esmond, that one the melancholy Marius, and so forth and so on; never any villains. But she had loved the man. Sheppard; and, as soon as he could command his feelings, which were considerably excited by the mention of her distresses, he squeezed her hand warmly, bestowed a hearty execration upon his own inhumanity, and swore he would neither separate her from her child, nor suffer any one else to separate them. ” “But that is ridiculous!” he exclaimed. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. What of madame, his wife?’ ‘You know more of her than me,’ the girl said with a look of scorn. She's fine.
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