" "I fancied I heard voices," rejoined Sir Rowland. He neither attempted to prevent his nephew's departure, nor to follow him. 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. "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. . ” “I am convinced of it,” she answered. The barmaids had too strongly appealed to his sense of novelty. “I forbid it!” she said firmly. “It’s—private.
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