At the back of the house, on a bank, rose an old-fashioned terrace-garden, full of apple-trees and other fruittrees in blossom, and lively with the delicious verdure of early spring. Afterward, one afternoon, he hovered about her, and came and sat beside her and talked of beauty and the riddle of beauty for some time. "That's a fine tale," said Spurlock. "Or the street," returned Jack: "mind my words, the prison's not built that can keep me. " "But what, in God's name, possessed you? You have already wrecked your own life and now you've wrecked hers.
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