There was no keeping Sheila from the truth, and it was better that anyone who lived under her roof knew it. “Hi. 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. ” “I am glad that you have a reasonable excuse for not having been to see me,” she said good-humouredly. Light the lantern. Always I have said I will take care of myself, and I have done so. Parbleu, but must she do this all through the house? Evidently she must, for not only could she not properly see the paintings and portraits that hung on the walls, but she was in imminent danger of bumping into the sheet-shrouded furniture. She wondered wildly why she had stood up.
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