“You can count upon me, Nigel,” she said. Sheppard did not dare to return any answer; but, disengaging herself from his embrace, endeavoured meekly to comply with his request. The door was closed— locked,—and the pair were heard descending the stairs. Do you see why I have hidden the terrible things from you? I chose you because you are my perfect mate. Certainly I cannot kill you if you tell me to do so. Fancy, as they say hereabouts!" What had aroused this open-air monologue was a small tin sign in a window. My very sentences stumble and give way.
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