Sheppard's habitation terminated a row of old ruinous buildings, called Wheeler's Rents; a dirty thoroughfare, part street, and part lane, running from Mint Street, through a variety of turnings, and along the brink of a deep kennel, skirted by a number of petty and neglected gardens in the direction of Saint George's Fields. She was lovely, painted like the porcelain doll he had always wanted her to be. The shouts, yells, and groans which they uttered, and which were echoed by the concourse in the rear, were perfectly frightful. “Run in now. ” “But why?” “He’s married—and, I believe, living separated from his wife. His eyes on Melusine, he uncocked the pistol, and then reached out to the portrait, grasping it by one edge. Oh! that I should live to be father-in-law to a peer of France! What would my poor wife say to it, if she could come to life again? Oh, Thames!—my lord marquis, I mean—you have made me the happiest—the proudest of mankind. He thought her only an orphan in search of her English relatives. ” She replied. And yet—he thought of the supper party where he had met Annabel Pellissier, the stories about her, his own few minutes’ whispered lovemaking! He was a self-contained young man, but his cheeks grew hot at the thought of the things which it had seemed quite natural to say to her then, but which he knew very well would have been instantly resented by the girl whom he had just left. “We are Mr. Sheppard's house, loud yells and vociferations reached his ears; and, looking downwards, he perceived a great stir amid the mob.
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