‘Up, Jacques, up,’ she ordered. " And, followed by the young couple, who gazed wistfully at the poor sufferer, he hastily quitted the room, and locked the door after him. “So Cheveney was her friend, you think, eh?” he remarked. I leaned over and looked at him—he was quite still. "He hears me not! he's gone!" she added, as the door was opened and shut with violence; "something tells me I shall never see him again!" When her father, a moment afterwards, issued from the parlour to ascertain the cause of the noise, he found her seated on the stairs, in an agony of grief. There followed a silence which endured several minutes; or, rather a tableau. .
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