“Let us go to that little place at the back of the Palace. "It's better," observed Sheppard, meaningly. Her cheeks were the colour of chalk, her eyes were filled with terror. The raising of twenty-five pounds was a task altogether beyond her powers. The scanty furniture of the rooms corresponded with their dungeon-like aspect. ” She trailed off as the smell hit her nose. Recognising the handwriting, he glanced swiftly at the signature, and uttering an explosive curse, cast the paper from him. “Besides, it is not so. Not MY affair. But for him she might have been alive and happy. She rose from her chair, and began walking up and down the room restlessly. Sheppard, passionately,—"he has my boundless gratitude, and devotion. F. .
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