They drove up into Paris in an open fiacre with a soft cool wind blowing in their faces, hand in hand beneath the rug. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. He was here shortly after the young man was taken ill. "To-morrow it will be mine. Sheppard, after a brief pause, during which she appeared overcome by her feelings,—she said, gently disengaging herself from the young girl's embrace, and speaking in a firm voice, "you must dissuade your father from this step. ’” Anna made no remark. I am not prying for my own amusement.
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