She spoke slowly. 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. And for me there is only one treasure-house. “I do want you. But the recollection of the warm pliant body in his arms …! "I am a thief!" he whispered. Put out your hand and bid me God-speed. " She pursed her lips and uttered a whistle, piercingly shrill and high; and instantly she became the object of intense astonishment on the part of the other diners. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. She was wearing a becoming tea-gown, and it was quite certain that Sir John would not be home for several hours at least.
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