" Sheppard cordially returned the pressure; and, cautioning Thames, "not to let the ruffles drop, or they might tell a tale," began to warble the following fragment of a robber melody:— "Oh! give me a chisel, a knife, or a file, And the dubsmen shall find that I'll do it in style! Tol-de-rol!" "Vot the devil are you about, noisy?" inquired Abraham. Sheppard, with a faint smile and a doubtful shake of the head, as Wood drew her to a seat beside him, "for I've had my full share of misery. “Who took care of you after she died?” “My father. Mr. Satisfied with his scrutiny, he produced a pocket-flask, and taking off the silver cup with which it was mounted, filled it with the contents of the flask, and then seizing the thin arm of the sleeper, rudely shook it. She slipped past the servants, her soft roe-skin shoes unheard on the old stone. What does it matter? I am not a pauper, Annabel. ” His face darkened. I’m starving. He laughed at her heartily, and she laughed too as she had not for a year. I, too, want to understand—to walk with my head in the light.
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