Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction. 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. “You could tell me but you’d have to kill me?” He asked with a sardonic grin on his face. I might as well be at Morningside Park.
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