If he adhered to this policy—to keep away from her inconspicuously—she would forget the name by night, and to-morrow even the bearer of it would sink below the level of recollection. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. " "Didn't the natives have a name for you?" She blushed. "Couldn't you speak to him?" "What?—and be insulted for my trouble? No, thank you!" "That is it. 1. Here Jack Sheppard was unable to repress an exclamation of astonishment. He returned the locket without comment.
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