. Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. Wood, regarding her husband with a glance of vindictive triumph. Prudence twinkled at them, and reached out to pat Melusine’s hand. In after years, some pitying hand supplied the inscription, which ran thus— JACK SHEPPARD THE END. The assemblage which was gathered together was almost countless. She was surprised and stared at him when he did not immediately leave the bed as Gianfrancesco always did, but instead rested on his elbows. Here he was almost stunned by the deafening clamour resounding on all sides. The period of repression was over.
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