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"It's wretched enough, indeed, Sir," rejoined the widow; "but, poor as it is, it's better than the cold stones and open streets. ” Anna shook hands with Brendon—a young man also, but older and more selfpossessed than Sydney Courtlaw. Sheppard, with a laugh that cut the ears of those who listened to it like a razor,—"Do not despair! And who or what shall give me comfort when my son is gone? I have wept till my eyes are dry,—suffered till my heart is broken,—prayed till the voice of prayer is dumb,—and all of no avail. They were bathing in the stream. I wonder how it is,” she added, “that boys always make love so impertinently. Be honest, and you will be happy. “But—your people!” she gasped. “So should you. “I don’t think you can have heard me, Vee,” he said, with intensely controlled fury. "My enemy," replied her son. She almost sprang to her feet. You lack only that mechanical knack of expression which is the least important part of an artist’s equipment, but which remains a tedious and absolute necessity.
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