Even the love of a mother does not sway him. Sheppard towards an appalling object in one corner. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. Hastening to the spot where he had tied his horse to a tree, he vaulted into the saddle, and rode off across the fields,—for he was fearful of encountering the hostile party,—till he reached the Edgeware Road. ’ ‘And now we know also who is the prétendant, Mademoiselle Charvill.
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