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. "Where are the packets committed to your charge by Sir Rowland Trenchard?" "The packets!" exclaimed Kneebone, in alarm. “Here we are,” he said, “shining through each other like light through a stained-glass window.
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