In spite of his care, he came in contact with a man, who, endeavouring to grasp him, cried, in the voice of Mendez, "Who goes dere? Shpeak! or I fire!" No answer being returned, the Jew instantly discharged his pistol, and though the shot did no damage, the flash discovered Sheppard. She saw a pole-chair; that would be this Mr. Sheppard. Her knees shook, her breath came fast, she almost felt the lurid effect of those tiny patches of rouge upon her pallor-stricken cheeks. She found presently she was out of the dock and confronted with the alternative of being bound over in one surety for the sum of forty pounds— whatever that might mean or a month’s imprisonment. “If I thought for a moment that there was any chance of a relapse, I should stop here and tell him the truth even now. The sword, Jacques. .
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