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. Manning,” she said, “for a time—Will you tell no one? Will you keep this—our secret? I’m doubtful—Will you please not even tell my aunt?” “As you will,” he said. I haven't forgotten her previous history. That dress is thirty years old, if a day. “You!” she exclaimed. “I think,” he said, “I was a little too mystical about beauty the other day. Only identity, and a chance to be someone other than a nun. " "Murder him!" cried Trenchard shuddering.
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