But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. "I want to speak to Edgeworth Bess myself. And now," she added, glancing contemptuously at the woollen-draper, "I'll go to Jack Sheppard. “Nigel, Nigel,” she cried. White assented. Sheppard," said the carpenter, advancing to meet her, and trying to look as cheerful and composed as he could; "what brings you to town, eh?— Nothing amiss, I trust?" "Nothing whatever, Sir," answered the widow. ” “Why?” asked Hetty. What could she do? Reluctantly, at a second curt command, she began to step across the uncarpeted floor, her eyes never leaving the threatening pistol. "And now, farewell, Mr. F.
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