"So, you're admiring my cabinet, Sir Rowland," he remarked, with a sinister smile; "it is generally admired; and, sometimes by parties who afterwards contribute to the collection themselves,—ha! ha! This skull," he added, pointing to a fragment of mortality in the case beside them, "once belonged to Tom Sheppard, the father of the lad I spoke of just now. . Why did I not realise it at once? It just shows how one should not judge by appearances. It keeps dangling in front of my eyes. So, one day, because God was wroth, her mother ran away with a blackguard, and died in the gutter, miserably. And now Ann Veronica’s evenings were also becoming very busy. "What do you want fot that coat, friend?" asked Jack, as he came up. The man himself was not a pleasant object. Squire and master.
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