When gallant TOM SHEPPARD to Tyburn was led,— "Stop the cart at the Crown—stop a moment," he said. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. Heliers. In one grave, mind. He only stays here for you, hoping in vain. A florid-looking young woman rose up and accosted him eagerly. Wild. "Put down your burthen, monster!" shouted Wood, pointing an immense blunderbuss at him. " "Too proud, eh?" rejoined the prize-fighter. The quiet encounter and home-coming Ann Veronica and she had contemplated was entirely disorganized by this misadventure; there were no adequate explanations, and after they had settled things at Ann Veronica’s lodgings, they reached home in the early afternoon estranged and depressed, with headaches and the trumpet voice of the indomitable Kitty Brett still ringing in their ears.
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