The theme was a masquerade. Sheppard, raising herself, and looking at him as if her life depended upon the answer. This is a plot entirely abominable, and I scorn to be part of it. There was nothing left now of the selfassured, prosperous man of affairs. “And what was that dreadful confession you had to make?” he was saying. The fire still burned brightly. "Stay!" interposed Jonathan. “Then let me be the judge of what is best,” she answered. This person—this Jonathan Wild, whom I beheld for the first time, scarcely an hour ago, in Wych Street, is—I know not why—my enemy. He saw her young and graceful back as she descended from the carriage, severely ignoring him, and recalled a glimpse he had of her face, bright and serene, as his train ran out of Wimbledon. “Take me back. "She considers her future blasted beyond hope. We shall have a reg'lar squall afore we gets across.
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