Sheppard. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. She sprang to her feet and stood listening with parted lips and eager eyes. She was standing before a window, against the background of the rain-burdened April sky. Before he could draw in the rein, his steed—startled apparently by some object undistinguishable by the rider,—swerved with such suddenness as to unseat him, and precipitate him on the ground. What about them?” He called a hansom.
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