Conceiving himself called upon, as the intimate friend of the deceased, to pay this last tribute of respect to her memory, he appeared as one of the chief mourners. ‘I believe that. '" "'This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea. Don’t think it was anything better than fever—or a bit beautiful. It is Thérèse. My nerves were in rags. You should have confided in me, and fallen in with my plan at the beginning. What sort of a human being are you, anyhow?" Enschede gazed seaward. It should be the happiest day of your life, and I would not detract from its happiness by letting you remember for a moment that there are others to whom your inevitable decision must bring some pain. In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made. Couldn’t face me with what he’d done, the miserable blackguard. He says only that he must tie up all the loose ends. And, turning at the touch, he perceived Sheppard's glance fixed meaningly upon him. "So I will," rejoined Shotbolt; "so I will. ” “Why?” “If I were bad at it, you would be on your way to the hospital by now.
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