. Brendon’s had an awful stroke of luck. Her natural instincts reasserted themselves. "Spare him!" cried Mrs, Sheppard, who fancied she had made some impression on the obdurate breast of the thief-taker,—"spare him! and I will forgive you, will thank you, bless you. What a mercy that the blow aimed at her by the ruffian, Wild, though it brought her to the brink of the grave, should have restored her to reason! Ah! she stirs. I am sorry to seem to disobey you, but I am. Wild will hang me. “I am sure,” she said, “that you mean to stay until you are turned out. I don’t think they do matter. She was correct, and when I went directly to the street she had named, there you were, walking into the Butcher Shop. .
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