It is no more a murder, but a duel, you understand. Sheppard, with a deep sigh, perceiving that her benefactor hesitated to pronounce the word. It was an oldfashioned peasant blouse, white, square necked, and trimmed with lace. "Buck up! While there's life there's hope. I know not who you are; and, as I cannot discern your face, I may be doing you an injustice. But he was at last persuaded that I mean you no harm, and that I might—just possibly, since I am both a gentleman and a major of militia—be able to be of more assistance to you than he himself. John, I shall eat that whole tin of sardines.
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