They then clambered over a hedge, and scaling another wall, got into the garden at the back of the house. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. When she saw however that this man was a stranger, and obviously harmless, her expression changed as though by magic. "Ay, ay," rejoined Sheppard; "he may do what he pleases,—hang me, if he thinks proper,—if you wish it. You cannot—shall not retreat. ” Then a burst of applause.
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