" "Stick the spike into him, then," returned Sheppard, coolly, "while I unbar the outlet. ‘I can take care of myself, bête. Will you find your destiny, I wonder, or will you go through life like so many others—a wanderer, knocking ever at empty doors, homeless to the last? Oh, if one could but find the way to your heart. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. "And now, widow," he continued, "attend to the next verse, for it consarns a friend o' yours.
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