At the eastern gate of the churchyard stood the carriage with the steps lowered. Checking an ominous cough, that, ever and anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate. Sheppard now directed her steps. A fever of shame ran through her being. “That is your sister’s name. Gave me a purse, and told me to take both of ’em up to Harwich and put them on a packet for Holland.
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