Sheppard is, without your information, Sir. The easel and palette having been packed up, and the canvass carefully removed by Austin, the party took leave of the prisoner, who was so much abstracted that he scarcely noticed their departure. ‘I am done, Gérard. See!" she added, tearing the rag from her head,—"I had beautiful black hair once. Love stories!… A sob rushed into her throat, and to smother it she buried her face in a pillow. On the fifth day he had ventured speech with her. Through the gloom he distinctly perceived the dome of St.
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