"But you've done well to trust me. Sheppard, passing her hand across her brow; "but my memory is gone—quite gone. Satisfied, as he thought, that he had nothing to apprehend, the boy resumed his task, chanting, as he plied his knife with redoubled assiduity, the following—not inappropriate strains:— THE NEWGATE STONE. She found no ready reply to that, and he went on: “This music is the food of love. I’m that shamed to confess it, miss, but it were then I thought of Martha. ” “Be very sure that you do,” Anna said slowly.
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