Tom Sheppard was always a close file, and would never tell whom he married. Norris. The funeral procession had now approached the grave, around which many of the congregation, who were deeply interested by the sad ceremonial, had gathered. Sometimes he was obviously irritable and uncomfortable and unfortunate in his efforts to seem at ease. He had a handsome, jolly-looking face; stood six feet two in his stockings; and measured more than a cloth-yard shaft across the shoulders—athletic proportions derived from his father the dragoon. I thought that he was dead. I’ll wait my whole life!” He cried. Too late, alas, to stop the disastrous marriage. ’ Colour suffused the man’s face.
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