” He passed his hand wearily over his forehead. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. Sheppard now directed her steps. You may fall into the hands of your enemy. I trust that she will not misunderstand me. . The owner was at the door unhooking a few articles of wearing apparel which he had exposed outside for sale. I had no idea you were not the happiest girl. Meysey Hill—never your wife. He had said so. They had not to tarry long. The girl’s eyes never left his face. He heard the door close; and in a little while he fell into a doze; and there came a dream filled with broken pictures, each one of which the girl dominated. Just then—I was nervous.
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