Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. Sheppard; and, as soon as he could command his feelings, which were considerably excited by the mention of her distresses, he squeezed her hand warmly, bestowed a hearty execration upon his own inhumanity, and swore he would neither separate her from her child, nor suffer any one else to separate them. “It is a great art,” she said in broken English. . ‘Go on, Gerald. “I hope,” said Miss Stanley, with dignity, and turned doorward with features in civil warfare.
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