” She stopped short, full of things un-said. Her sense followed the shoulders under his coat, down to where his flexible, sensitive-looking hand rested lightly upon the table. "I am not, by Heaven!" replied Sheppard, firmly. Annabel saw it, and suddenly changed her tone. She held out her hand for it, but Gerald smiled. Satisfied with his scrutiny, he produced a pocket-flask, and taking off the silver cup with which it was mounted, filled it with the contents of the flask, and then seizing the thin arm of the sleeper, rudely shook it. Something seemed to dredge up from the recesses of her memory and she brightened. Wood resounded from below. It belonged to his father, and was worn by him on the night he was murdered. Her head dangled unnaturally for an instant, unleashed from its moorings, then sank to join her husband’s on the floor. "I will administer it.
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