She opened the door with a neon colored key. Sheppard, sinking backwards upon the pallet. ‘Good. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. A door led to the inner room; and it was evident from the peals of merriment, and other noises, that, ever and anon, resounded from within, that this chamber was occupied by the Marquis and his friends. She knew that I cared for her, she had admitted that she cared for me.
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