Sheppard, in a voice of agony. It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult. More strange stories were told of it than of any other house in London. "So, you're admiring my cabinet, Sir Rowland," he remarked, with a sinister smile; "it is generally admired; and, sometimes by parties who afterwards contribute to the collection themselves,—ha! ha! This skull," he added, pointing to a fragment of mortality in the case beside them, "once belonged to Tom Sheppard, the father of the lad I spoke of just now.
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