JIM SHEPHERD'S SCARE It was, in its way, a pathetic sight upon which Laverick gazed when he stole into that shabby little sitting-room.

Zoe had fallen asleep in a small, uncomfortable easy-chair with its back to the window.

Her supper of bread and milk was half finished, her hat lay upon the table.

A book was upon her lap as though she had started to read only to find it slip through her fingers.

He stood with his elbow upon the mantelpiece, looking down at her.