He was sipping a glass of cold gin and water, and smoking a short black pipe. The real ‘Alcide’,” she wound up with a faint smile across the table at him, “is here. “Dear friend,” she said, “do you not think that you are breaking an unspoken compact? I am very sorry. "Oh, God! that I might die too," cried Jack, falling on his knees beside her. The elastic spirits of youth resumed their sway; and, before the coach stopped, his tears had ceased to flow. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. It seemed to them they could never have been really alive before, but only dimly anticipating existence.
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