And they could talk, they found; and never once, it seemed, did their meaning and intention hitch. After all, this could never be the black sheep. He looked at it with uplifted eyebrows, but made no remark. Sheppard, with a laugh that cut the ears of those who listened to it like a razor,—"Do not despair! And who or what shall give me comfort when my son is gone? I have wept till my eyes are dry,—suffered till my heart is broken,—prayed till the voice of prayer is dumb,—and all of no avail. There was a brief pause, a crowded pause, between them. “I have come for an explanation,” she said.
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