Meantime the spinsters sought the dining room where tea was being served. She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. " "Let me touch you, then; let me feel if you are really flesh and blood," cried the poor maniac, creeping towards him on all fours. He flung Ruth aside, careless whether she fell or not. Yes, this was a little better. Too much blood has been shed already. As he passed out he saw in the hall a quietly dressed man with keen grey eyes, talking to one of the footmen. And listen, John. "No, no, let him alone," interposed Wood. Wood,—"he'll never mend. You have actually given up a dinner-party to dine alone with me. What has become of the other?" "Why, surely you don't mean Jack Sheppard?" cried the woollen-draper in surprise. Applying his ear to the keyhole, Jack listened, but could detect no sound. To-night she could have hugged both the old maids.
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