Sheppard raised her hand, and the malediction trembled upon her tongue. She took it up in her many-ringed hands and read it judicially. He hated himself a little for it. He pulled rein at the sight of her, saluted, and regarded her with his rather too protuberant eyes. "Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. " "It's mine, I'll be sworn," rejoined Wood. Sniveling brats, little fatherless bastards, you should breathe a sigh of relief. "Oh! Sir, if you'd seen her as I've seen her, you'd not wish her a continuance of misery. “Thank Heaven, they are bringing the hors d’oeuvres.
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