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. ” “Yes. What'll we call him—Rollo?"—ironically. "What's that?" demanded McClintock. “You see you do not know how much of truth there is in his story. "A vow," she answered,—"a vow to my dead husband.
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