" Pain was stabbing him, now here, now there; pain was real enough; but he could not establish as a fact in his throbbing brain the presence of his aunt in the doorway. "Is it you?" "It is," replied Sheppard, as he untied the cords. The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing. "One whom you may perhaps have forgotten," replied the stranger, "but who can never forget the kindness he experienced at your hands, or at those of your excellent husband. For a few minutes he kept them at bay. To write under a pseudonym!—to be forced to disown his children! He could not write under his own name, enjoy the fruits of fame should these tales prove successful. F. Adieu!" And, snatching a hasty kiss, he darted after Jack. Wood's," said the latter, "since I find him at his own gate. All the party were greatly interested by Sheppard's history— especially Figg, who laughed loud and long at the escape from the Condemned Hold. ‘En tout cas, it is not up at all, but down.
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