Sheppard," cried the thief-taker, as he slipped a pair of handcuffs over Jack's wrists, "for the help you have given us in capturing your son. The light was poor, so that she saw their gleaming faces dimly and indistinctly. Why was he there? why did the tempter dare to invade that sacred spot! She could not answer her own questions, but vague fearful suspicions passed through her mind. She played “Happy Birthday” for John, after which they plied her with a dozen requests. It was the first expression of the mother's blood. ‘Get the swords!’ ‘I’ll see to him. Then he went back to his rooms and lit a cigar. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. ” Her answer was terse.
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