But this is not sufficient. "It is," replied Sheppard. Annabel shines like a star in the darkness, Rosamund queens it a rose, deep rose; But the lady I love is like sunshine in April weather, She gleams and gladdens, she warms—and goes. “I wonder what he takes me for?” When presently she got down from the stile a certain note of internal conflict, a touch of doubt, had gone from her warm-tinted face. He had let go his name so easily as that! What was the name she had given? Ruth something; he could not remember. ‘Alors, you make a game with me, I see that. .
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