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. Two shots were fired, and presently the clashing of swords was heard below. It would be very hard perhaps to make you understand just how I feel about it. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. They had their little dreams about her. I don’t think for a moment that he would recognize you. "It is your son.
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