"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. Hanging on the wall was a temple censer, bronze, moulded in the shape of a lotus blossom with stem and leaves—deadly as a club. Then instinct took over. ‘Yes, miss. Sheppard. Above she found the two Chinamen squatted at the side of the door. Her evident terror and distress reinforced the tale he told. Maybe the girl was telling the truth, and then again, maybe she wasn't.
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