“You no longer belong to Gianfrancesco. 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. “Who’ll mind the baby nar?” was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent. “How’d you know it was me?” He looked conspiratorially into the room for hidden informants. Lest the carpenter should be taxed with too much uxoriousness, it behoves us to ascertain whether the personal attractions of his helpmate would, in any degree, justify the devotion he displayed.
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