He was not Meysey Hill, but an Englishman of business, and he had only a small income. Only a book detective could dope this out. But he was not a father one could make much of. 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. He was more like a man who had left his bed in the middle of convalescence. I loved her beyond anything in heaven or on earth—to idolatry. ‘It looked to me as if he was playing games with Madame Valade,’ Lucilla said frankly. ‘What happened, ma’am?’ enquired Gerald gently. ” “To a friend?” “To lodgings—alone.
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