“I believe that you are right,” he said softly. Sheppard, who had again looked round towards her son, beheld a hand glance along the side of the woollendraper. . “Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. She was curious, and at the same time clearly resolved she must not hear it. On the stranger's appearance, she was seated near the window busily occupied with her needle. She closed her eyes as if asleep, her hands folded neatly on her abdomen. Such was his fury, that if he had not been restrained by the presence of the two turnkeys, he might perhaps have anticipated the course of justice, by laying violent hands upon his victim. His heart was beating, but faintly and slowly, with ominous intermissions. ’ ‘Ah, that is good,’ sighed the lady. He called to the other attendant, who held the torch. “Goodnight. You'll do.
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