" "To-morrow will be too late," said Sheppard, moodily. There was a little pain, but it wasn’t anything. Mrs. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. He spent the remainder of the afternoon looking for a friend whom he found at last in the billiard room of one of the smaller clubs to which he belonged. ’ ‘Yes, and leave you to break in on your own. ’ ‘I’m not going to release you, so it’s no use complaining. "Restore it," he cried, in an authoritative voice. Finding it impossible to descend on any side, without incurring serious risk, Jack resolved to return for his blanket, by the help of which he felt certain of accomplishing a safe landing on the roof of the house in Giltspur Street. "I don't understand you, gentlemen," stammered he, at length. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. She felt draggled and insulted beyond redemption.
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