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" "Very true," chuckled Jackson; "very true. Never mind, I’ve got plenty. He looked around, and as he heard that deafening shout,— as he felt the influence of those thousand eyes fixed upon him,—as he listened to the cheers, all his misgivings—if he had any—vanished, and he felt more as if he were marching to a triumph, than proceeding to a shameful death. Those are all nice things, but it’s not what I want. Perhaps it had been pick-pocketed or jostled from her dress in a hunt. Such apartments as she saw were either scandalously dirty or unaccountably dear, or both. Sheppard, passing her hands over his face, and gazing at him with a look that made him shudder. They’re just a joyous softening of the outline—more beautiful than perfection.
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