" "None whatever," rejoined Wild. “I’m not so sure. Her head swam. 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. She would often steal away to tryst with him in the orchard, even now she felt her loins grow warm with the memory of his ardor. I had a sort of idea,” he went on, “that you were starting life all over again, and it seemed awfully plucky. We LIKED each other well enough.
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