Just as Hogarth got to the door, the turnkey stopped him. 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. I had no idea. And you have to thank her presence, hot-headed boy, that I do not chastise your insolence as it deserves. Aliva Trencher. That is good. The massive door was unlocked, and they entered the cell. Her aunt had a once exasperating habit of interrupting her work with demands for small household services, but now Ann Veronica rendered them with a queer readiness of anticipatory propitiation.
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