Sheppard. He haunted a state between hectic dreaming and mild delirium, and she found herself talking aloud to him. At the back of the house, on a bank, rose an old-fashioned terrace-garden, full of apple-trees and other fruittrees in blossom, and lively with the delicious verdure of early spring. " Half an hour later she laid aside the book. Of course he hadn't played the game wisely. How she had coveted her mother’s beauty and sought to emulate it, if only to please her. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. She was fine and tender. “Miss Pellissier is nothing to me except a young lady for whom I have the most profound and respectful admiration.
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