"I could almost find in my heart to quarrel with Jack Sheppard for occasioning you so much pain," observed little Winifred Wood, as, having completed her ministration to the best of her ability, she helped Thames on with his coat. ‘Good, good—and not before time,’ muttered Roding, glancing round again. He knew that at this moment Ruth lay upon her bed in torment, for she was by nature tender; and the reaction of her scathing words, no matter how justifiable, would be putting scars on her soul. It was a large, littered, self-forgetful apartment, decorated with unframed charcoal sketches by various incipient masters; and an open bookcase, surmounted by plaster casts and the half of a human skull, displayed an odd miscellany of books—Shaw and Swinburne, Tom Jones, Fabian Essays, Pope and Dumas, cheek by jowl. Sheppard prepared for church. " "I have often conjured up some frightful vision of the dead," murmured the knight, "but I never dreamed of an interview with the living. ’ He bowed and indicated the open door at the back of the hall. "My mother,—my poor mother!" exclaimed Jack. “I am the most foolish of men.
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