It is Thérèse. "Vill this do?" demanded the constable, taking the candle from the lantern, the better to display the narrow limits of the hole. “Touch a hair on his head and you will insure that I will never make love to you again. Sheppard raised her eyes, and fixed them upon her interrogator. Uttering a faint scream, she sank backwards, and would have fallen, if it had not been for the interposition of Blueskin, who, at that moment, staggered into the room with a candle in one hand, and the bottle in the other. Dieu du ciel, but where was Gerald? On the move again, she found herself standing before one of the mirrors, gazing into her own countenance without seeing it. C below. Don’t leave me in this beastly thing.
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