He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. CHAPTER XXX. “Anna,” he pleaded, “be merciful. "Now, Mr. ” “I wish you would use my Christian name,” he said. He answered with the greatest assurance, that he knew nothing whatever of the matter—had seen no pocket-book, and no associate to give up. It seemed to show a want of affection, to be a deliberate and unmerited disregard, to justify the reprisal of being hurt. At Boulogne they took train to Basle; next morning they breakfasted together in the buffet of that station, and thence they caught the Interlaken express, and so went by way of Spies to Frutigen.
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