Sheppard, paralysed by the threat. He moved, after quiet intervals, with a quick little movement, and ever and again stroked his small mustache and coughed a selfconscious cough. "It is her child!" shrieked Rowland, in a voice heard above the howling of the tempest, "risen from this roaring abyss to torment me. The Dawn Pearl. I have slept with it under my pillow. He singled out my poor husband from a crowd of other felons; and you know how right he was in that case, Sir. " Sir Rowland caught at a chair for support, and passed his hand across his brow, on which the damp had gathered thickly. The world had grown dark and wide, and she was very small. Why had he kissed her? What had led him into that? Neither love nor passion— utter blankness so far as reducing the act to terms.
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