“I really do not believe,” he announced with satisfaction, “that any one would recognize me. Wrap yourself in my cloak, and keep it. He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed. She was honest again. Fame of any sort was folly and she knew better. Sheppard, you mean, Sir," interrupted his wife, ironically. "Your audacity passes belief," cried the latter, as soon as his surprise would allow him utterance. “You heard no pistol-shot?” “None. His eyes flashed as he turned towards her. I loved her beyond anything in heaven or on earth—to idolatry.
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