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He touched a long-standing sore, and Ann Veronica found herself vainly trying to explain—the inexplicable. She came very near that night to resolving that she would return to her home next morning. "As long as you please, Sir," answered the matron, dropping a curtsey. Sheppard, with a laugh that cut the ears of those who listened to it like a razor,—"Do not despair! And who or what shall give me comfort when my son is gone? I have wept till my eyes are dry,—suffered till my heart is broken,—prayed till the voice of prayer is dumb,—and all of no avail. " "It matters not. "It's better," observed Sheppard, meaningly.
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