Sheppard made an effort to speak, but her voice was choked by emotion. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. Drawing a pistol, and unclosing his lantern with the quickness of thought, he then burst through an open trap-door into a small loft. He was profoundly stirred. The signal of distress was evidently understood.
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