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‘You speak as if you expected to meet her again, Gerald. You are too kind. Sheppard, with a laugh that cut the ears of those who listened to it like a razor,—"Do not despair! And who or what shall give me comfort when my son is gone? I have wept till my eyes are dry,—suffered till my heart is broken,—prayed till the voice of prayer is dumb,—and all of no avail. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. " "Tush!" cried Thames; "you accused me to skreen yourself. ‘You damned little fool! How dared you steal my sword?’ Her eyes flew open. . . Sorrow lay in the back of his mind as he withdrew, but he put it aside. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. .
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