Sheppard. This island was the one haven he had; he might be forced to remain here for several years—until the Hand had forgotten him. The chromatic fiction with which he relieved his mind glanced but slightly at this aspect of life, and never with any quality of guidance. With some difficulty he contrived to raise her to the window, and with still greater difficulty to squeeze her through it—her bulk being much greater than his own. Before Wood had time to inquire into the cause of this sound, his attention was diverted by a man, who rushed past the entry with the swiftness of desperation. "I'll tell you," replied Jack, with forced calmness. He sat up in his chair again, the colour came back to his cheeks.
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