Another horn now resounded from the further extremity of the thoroughfare; this was answered by a third; and presently a fourth, and more remote blast, took up the note of alarm. Awful shapes seemed to flit by, borne on the wings of the tempest, animating and directing its fury. “We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. What else could one say? I left him to suppose—a registry perhaps. “You love some one else?” he repeated. Wood had the advantage of her husband in point of years, being on the sunny side of forty,—a period pronounced by competent judges to be the most fascinating, and, at the same time, most critical epoch of woman's existence,—whereas, he was on the shady side of fifty,—a term of life not generally conceived to have any special recommendation in female eyes. This is not the conduct of a jeune demoiselle.
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