’ She shuddered, throwing her hands over her face. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. Of course Nicholas was bound to give her a French name. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. Sheppard. And there," he added, placing in his hands a heavy bag of money, and a pocketbook, "is a sum little short of fifteen thousand pounds. It might be dangerous to thwart him. ” She smiled. It was the grand nursery of vice. Sheppard, smiling through her tears.
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