She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. Guided by the glare of the forge, which threw a stream of ruddy light across the road, Jack soon found the place of which he was in search. . Whatever happened she need never return to that possibility. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. "Well, Jack," he said, after a pause, "are you disposed to go back quietly with me?" "You'll ascertain that when you attempt to touch me," rejoined Sheppard, resolutely. Ah! I have it," he added, after a moment's deliberation; "he's there, I'll be sworn. She hoped that he would at long last remember his young male pride. “Run in now.
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