"Forgive me—oh, forgive me!" "Forgive you—bless you!" she gasped. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. Sheppard, fleeing from him to the farthest corner of the room. She seemed honestly glad to see him. Lucy entered the room. He opened the drawer of the writing table. It appeared he had already ordered dinner and wine, and the whiskered waiter waved in his subordinate with the soup forthwith. To his consternation, she was holding an unwieldy, ugly-looking pistol, all wood and tarnished steel, with both hands about the butt.
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