She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. Yet her hands dropped, and she sighed deeply. "Ay, ay," rejoined Sheppard; "he may do what he pleases,—hang me, if he thinks proper,—if you wish it. ” “The truth,” she murmured, with her eyes fixed upon him. This was not the sort of confession which he had been expecting. ’ ‘I suppose you want to take her along as well as that infernal stolen horse?’ said Hilary sarcastically.
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