" "Murder him!" cried Trenchard shuddering. ’ ‘Get on, Hilary, do,’ begged Lucilla. Sheppard," said the carpenter, advancing to meet her, and trying to look as cheerful and composed as he could; "what brings you to town, eh?— Nothing amiss, I trust?" "Nothing whatever, Sir," answered the widow. Instinctively she had fallen into the posture of the poster, her hands behind her, her head bent slightly forward, her chin uplifted, her eyes bright with the drollery of the song. "Like master like man," observed Jack as he rolled the inanimate body to the side of the road. His face darkened. .
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