Sheppard's weight had destroyed the equilibrium of the plank: it swerved, and slowly descended. He fixed it. She turned to Martha as the lad exited by the back door, but her nurse forestalled anything she might have said. Bird, the turner, to give him an order this evening. Left to himself, he took a survey of the room, and his heart leaped as he beheld over the, chimney-piece, a portrait of himself. "Is it a bargain?" "Take half of my estate—take all—my life, if you will—I am weary of it!" cried Trenchard passionately. She watched them sleep for what seemed hours from the high window until her body grew colder than the stone sill she perched upon. " "But I was intoxicated!" "So was the man you just fought in this room. A struggle of the most terrific kind now ensued. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. "All right," replied Sheppard, with affected indifference. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. D'ye hear how the wanes creaks on old Winchester House? We shall have a touch on it ourselves presently. I am quite sure though that they did not mean to be rude. .
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