’ The girl held out her hands. A thin mist lay on the river, giving the few craft moving about in it a ghostly look. Sheppard, with a laugh that cut the ears of those who listened to it like a razor,—"Do not despair! And who or what shall give me comfort when my son is gone? I have wept till my eyes are dry,—suffered till my heart is broken,—prayed till the voice of prayer is dumb,—and all of no avail. Then there was also the horse. "We shall be obliged to force it. We can’t afford to turn our women, our Madonnas, our Saint Catherines, our Mona Lisas, our goddesses and angels and fairy princesses, into a sort of man. To be alone with her, in idleness, was an intolerable thought.
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