From his wallet he brought forth a yellow letter. Her mind turned to her own future, the endless trickle of years. They heard voices inside but stood for a full thirty seconds looking at each other. His legs were fine and strong, he told her that he had been a warrior in ancient times, to which she snorted in disgust. He had a handsome, jolly-looking face; stood six feet two in his stockings; and measured more than a cloth-yard shaft across the shoulders—athletic proportions derived from his father the dragoon. He entered the room with his usual deliberation, and looked covertly about him. Sheppard heaved a deep sigh, and opened her eyes, which now looked larger, blacker, and more melancholy than ever. Spurlock had sensed what had gone completely over McClintock's head—that this was the playing of a soul in damnation.
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