"Ay, ay," rejoined Sheppard; "he may do what he pleases,—hang me, if he thinks proper,—if you wish it. There was no way to warn her of his presence without startling her. “Where?” “To that ball. His clothes had evidently seen some service, and were plentifully begrimed with the dust of the workshop. Will you forgive me—if I say no more?” She looked at him with perplexed, earnest eyes. Before her was a great Gothic portal. ” “You came—here!” he repeated, vaguely. ” She repeated, as if she answered an objector: “A sort of blacklegging.
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