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. To-night I locked up my flat at six o’clock. But it’s as you say. Compared to most of America, you’re rich. “It was just an hour before teatime,” she remarked. . " "What gives you that idea?" "Well, we could find no letter of credit, no letters, no labels in his clothes—not a single clew to his real identity. The girl’s eyes never left his face. .
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