A small handgun bobbed at the end of it, aimed at Sheila. "May come!—it will come!—it shall come!" cried the carpenter, shaking his hand menacingly at him. " "Why, surely you don't think your guests would steal them," observed Rachel, archly. So far he had not stirred; from his bloodless lips had come no sound. "He was hanged that left his drink behind, you know, master," rejoined Sheppard. Yet she could not bring herself to hate the girl, or even Gianfrancesco, the one who would have sent her to her death more than once. .
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