” “Well”—her breath failed her for a moment. "This locket," he said, taking a little ornament attached to a black ribband from his breast, and giving it her,—"do you remember it?" "I do—I do!" cried Winifred. He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. ’ ‘He let them go?’ asked Miss Froxfield incredulously. "Ah!" he exclaimed, "a letter, beginning 'dearest Aliva,'—that's your mother's name, Thames.
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