Sheppard's dress—extremely neat and clean, but simply fashioned, and of the plainest and most unpretending material,—offered nothing assailable; and her demeanour was so humble, and her looks so modest, that—if she had been ill-looking—she might, possibly, have escaped the shafts of malice preparing to be levelled against her. “Would you wait for me?” Manning was silent for a space. " As he spoke, the door of the round-house was opened, and a stout man, with a lantern in his hand, presented himself at the threshold. ‘Or flew in by balloon, perhaps. ‘Parbleu, I hope that I do not have many more times to come in this way to the house,’ she muttered fretfully. But I don’t care; I haven’t a spark of shame. .
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