" "How did you escape?" asked Sheppard, who, as he shook off his slumber, began to recall the events of the previous night. " "Constance alive? Impossible!" ejaculated Trenchard. She had been carrying them, he assumed, but then again the school had some particularly talented kids among the usual ruffians. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl.
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