The summons was instantly answered by a shop-boy. Having now sealed his letter, Sheppard took a handkerchief, and tying it over Shotbolt's face, so as completely to conceal the features, clapped his hat upon his head, and pushed it over his brows. “The young women of Jane Austen’s time didn’t get into this sort of scrape! At least—one thinks so. Only identity, and a chance to be someone other than a nun. “You will write to me, I am sure—and from the date of your letter I trust most earnestly that I may come back to my old place as “Your devoted friend, “WALTER BRENDON. The latter formed by far the most knavish-looking and unprepossessing portion of the assemblage. ” She paused, and he waited for her to speak. It is like some accident.
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