“I’m going for a long tramp, auntie,” she said. Sheppard," cried the carpenter's wife bitterly; "and, I repeat, Bedlam's too good for her. ‘Would you have me face my maker with that on my conscience? If I’d died, there’d have been no one to tell you, for your father would not have done. The doleful procession at once assumed a festive character. Glancing towards him she saw that a shadow had fallen upon his face. He perceived, however, that both the novels he read and the world he lived in discountenanced these assumptions. The man who sat behind a pigeon-hole, and regulated the comings and goings, was for a moment absent. ‘For that, I must conceal that I also have enjoyed the kiss. I can’t rest or work or settle down to anything while things are like this between you and me.
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