"Why, this is your writing Dolly, and addressed to Mr. I'll leave these out, and to-morrow you can read them through. "I'll have to set you right on that, too. Sheppard, clasping him with a hand that burnt with fever, "I have been ill—dreadfully ill—I believe delirious—I thought I should have died last night—I won't tell you what agony you have caused me—I won't reproach you. " "But you will,—won't you?" she rejoined, looking him coaxingly in the face. Gently she raised his head and withdrew the coat from under the pillow.
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