The distinction lay chiefly in the right to pat their heads. Dieu du ciel! Gerald was kissing her! She struggled to be free, and the arms that held her loosened, the lips leaving hers. The way—the way we are led on! We are taught to believe we are free in the world, to think we are queens. Master and missis have been talking all day long about Jack Sheppard, and I'm dying to read his life. To have written a short story in a week was rather a remarkable feat. But, when I look upon his innocent face, and see how like he is to his father,—when I think of that father's shameful ending, and recollect how free from guilt he once was,—at such times, Mr. 4.
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