“I refuse. "This locket," he said, taking a little ornament attached to a black ribband from his breast, and giving it her,—"do you remember it?" "I do—I do!" cried Winifred. After a series of mental gymnastics—occupying the space of a few seconds—it came to him with a shock that here was a new specimen of the species. I can’t. Running his hand carefully over it in search of the lock, he perceived to his dismay that it was fastened on the other side. What has become of the other?" "Why, surely you don't mean Jack Sheppard?" cried the woollen-draper in surprise. CHAPTER III. The study seemed absolutely unaltered, there was still the same lamp with a little chip out of the shade, still the same gas fire, still the same bundle of blue and white papers, it seemed, with the same pink tape about them, at the elbow of the arm-chair, still the same father. He had found her in a communicative mood, and he used the accumulated skill of years in turning that to account.
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