"You speak English better than I do," said O'Higgins, as the coolies jogged across the bridge toward the gate. Sheppard, with a laugh that cut the ears of those who listened to it like a razor,—"Do not despair! And who or what shall give me comfort when my son is gone? I have wept till my eyes are dry,—suffered till my heart is broken,—prayed till the voice of prayer is dumb,—and all of no avail. I am a little afraid. Now if she sent fifteen pounds the suggestion that she had spent a five-pound note in the meanwhile would be irresistible. There was—a service. ” “I am very glad,” he answered, in a low tone. ‘Go on, Gerald.
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