Sheppard, who had again looked round towards her son, beheld a hand glance along the side of the woollendraper. "At length, I have my wish," continued Mrs. ” The lights sank, the prelude to the third act was beginning, the music rose and fell in crowded intimations of lovers separated—lovers separated with scars and memories between them, and the curtain went reefing up to display Tristan lying wounded on his couch and the shepherd crouching with his pipe. He said nothing. He sat up in his chair again, the colour came back to his cheeks. " The worthy carpenter was now far more angry with himself than he had previously been with Mrs. " CHAPTER V.
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