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. If you met her you would, I am certain, think her as fine as I do. Perhaps," she added, in a whisper, as she appropriated the beforenamed article, "he has a pocket-book. “What did it matter?” she cried.
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