Having now sealed his letter, Sheppard took a handkerchief, and tying it over Shotbolt's face, so as completely to conceal the features, clapped his hat upon his head, and pushed it over his brows. His chin was angular and his lips were 16 small, his mouth tiny and refined. " "Come, come, Captain," remonstrated Blueskin. . ’ ‘Not, I trust, Nicholas Charvill?’ ‘Hardly. "If you thought that, why did you give me this job?"—his voice faint and thick. The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica.
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