But I've an idea as well as you, grounded in some measure upon Sheppard's story. As time went on, she began to think Martha had been mistaken. She was looking anxiously at the entrance to the restaurant. I tried to have it out with him, but he wouldn’t have it out. See!" she added, tearing the rag from her head,—"I had beautiful black hair once. Ennison slightly——” There was a dead silence in the little room. " "Most likely," observed Jonathan, with a slight sneer; "the ghost of some highwayman who has just breathed his last in Newgate, no doubt.
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