It was just then that she came face to face with Nigel Ennison. 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. I told her I was sick today and she told me to get over myself. "Impossible!" exclaimed the widow, wildly. ’ A laugh escaped her. ‘I must get a handkerchief.
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