“You must leave me your address if you please,” he said, as she rose to go. She would look up, shake her head, and then go back to her reading or crewelwork. As the night advanced, Mr. What has become of the other?" "Why, surely you don't mean Jack Sheppard?" cried the woollen-draper in surprise. Sheila’s own waif of a husband had objected to her airing the truth, he had even gotten the nerve to bring up the word divorce. Her companion was a portly handsome man, also dressed in a full suit of the deepest mourning, with the finest of lace at his bosom and wrists, and a sword in a black sheath by his side. Where her husband saw only two youngsters in the mating mood, she felt that tragedy in some phase lurked in this room—if only in the loneliness of these two, without kith or kin apparently, thousands of miles from home.
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