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. Fifteen from forty is twenty-five. He stared at her stupidly, forgetting to guard against the tactics he had come to expect from her. , or that she had a care in the world. But was that enough? Dim, formless suspicions of something more vital wandered about his mind. “What do you think you are doing?” He asked. But give me till to-morrow—only till to-morrow—I may be able to part with him then.
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