She distinctly shivered as he forced her to look at him. "My father!" she whispered. “Can’t you believe me? I am Meysey Hill. Sheppard, with startling eagerness. The scanty furniture of the rooms corresponded with their dungeon-like aspect. His subconscious sensed the unnaturalness of it and recoiled. Not one of them but bore the marks of having been engaged in a recent and severe conflict. The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me.
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