” “I suppose I must have thought so. 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. Mike had suffered severe depression in his first years with the Becks, but had grown to think of them as his natural family to the degree that his past seemed like a distant memory. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. “But I have forbidden it!” he said, raising his voice. His face was a little flushed perhaps, and his small, brown eyes were bright.
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