Sheppard. Immediately the "boy" went forth with his paper lantern, repeating a cry as he ran—warning to clear the way. It was a tale of battle, murder, and sudden death on the New York waterfront. We have only those phantoms called memories, which are the husks of dreams. After you went he got up and took refuge in the preparation-room. Eh bien, they would see about this. Will you find your destiny, I wonder, or will you go through life like so many others—a wanderer, knocking ever at empty doors, homeless to the last? Oh, if one could but find the way to your heart. ‘I can’t help but be sure,’ he returned shortly. “Perhaps that is only sleeping,” he said. . I see now that you make a game with me indeed.
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