” “Well, why not?” Lady Lescelles asked, smiling. “Well?” she said. No sterner head was ever beheld beneath the cowl of a monk, or the bonnet of an inquisitor. Sheppard did not dare to return any answer; but, disengaging herself from his embrace, endeavoured meekly to comply with his request. "Oh! that I could live to see it," gasped Jonathan. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. I’ll mention it. At last some anodyne formed itself from these exercises, and, with eyelashes wet with such feeble tears as only three-o’clock-in-the-morning pathos can distil, she fell asleep.
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