‘And that object confirms me in the belief that it is not I who will shortly meet my maker. ” He paused with a sense of ineptitude. 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. Melusine ripped strips off her under-petticoats and fashioned a pad, which she bandaged as tightly as she could over the wound, working swiftly, unperturbed by the gore. A spot of colour, brighter than any rouge, burned on her cheeks. Or I should say—’ ‘Eugenia,’ cut in Gerald grimly. Perhaps she was.
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