It isn’t illusions—for us. “Can’t you believe me? I am Meysey Hill. The necessity which had previously existed of leaving the ghastly evidence of the murderous deed undisturbed,—the presence of the mangled corpse,—the bustle of the inquest, at which her attendance was required,—all these circumstances produced a harrowing effect upon the young girl's imagination. Ramage back his forty pounds. Wild hasn't been to inquire after him to-day," observed Langley; "it's the first time he's missed doing so since the trial. He hesitated for a moment and then he followed her. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. Sheppard," replied Winifred, advancing.
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