"Spare him!" cried Mrs, Sheppard, who fancied she had made some impression on the obdurate breast of the thief-taker,—"spare him! and I will forgive you, will thank you, bless you. " "I declare I don't know what to do," said Wood, burned by conflicting emotions. A long and secret conference then took place between the thief-taker and his myrmidons, after which they were severally dismissed. "Whose house do you want, master?" said the man, touching his hat. Oh, what’s his name? It’s on the tip of my tongue. Then Sheila noticed the stains. "Come Bess,—no whimpering.
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