There was no keeping Sheila from the truth, and it was better that anyone who lived under her roof knew it. 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. "O Massa Ireton! Massa Wild!" ejaculated Caliban, "Shack Sheppart gone!" "Gone? you black devil!—Gone?" cried Ireton. “There was a man called Montague Hill,” she said hoarsely, “but he is dead. The girl regarded him with the face of a Sphinx. ’ But the nun’s eyes had caught Gerald behind and she took instant umbrage.
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