These little squares of coloured paper interested her mightily—hotel labels. "Have nine years so changed me, that there is no trace left of your adopted son?" "God bless me!" ejaculated the carpenter, rubbing his eyes, "can—can it be?" "Surely," screamed Mrs. But he would die if he continued in this course. Even were she to get an opportunity to scream, it would be some time before such a call, unprecedented though it might be, brought the nuns so much out of their absorption that they interrupted their prayer to investigate. How Jack Sheppard's Portrait was painted 385 XVII.
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