Sheppard is one, no doubt," observed Mrs. " "Why, my love," rejoined her husband, "appearances, you must allow, were a little against you. I don’t quite know why. Something seemed awry. "To-night it is their turn," said Jonathan, binding up his wounded fingers with a handkerchief. ” “I suppose not. “When you married me——” Her little hand flashed out across the table. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. But she made no answer.
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