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. Then she sat watching the play, sometimes offering a helpful suggestion, sometimes letting her attention wander to the smoothly shining arms she had folded across her knees just below the edge of the table. All this was exciting and entertaining. "I could not believe you capable of so foul a deed. Well, I shall be sorry to lose him, Mr. “Eight, Cavendish Square. “After all,” she said, “if this person will not be reasonable, I am afraid——” It was enough. “Yes,” she answered, looking away.
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