‘But you,’ she said in the friendliest way imaginable, ‘are a person tout à fait sympathique, I think. I should say that you owed me considerable. I’ve had the rarest luck and fallen on my feet. Not like my father. Sheppard now directed her steps. But I can tell you who'll have the pleasure of hanging your father's son; and that's a person not a hundred miles distant from you at this moment—ha! ha!" As he said this, the door was opened, and Charcam entered, accompanied by a dwarfish, shabby-looking man, in a brown serge frock, with coarse Jewish features, and a long red beard. This astute personage was somewhat under the middle size, but fairly proportioned, inclining rather to strength than symmetry, and abounding more in muscle than in flesh. “I wish you and I had drunk that love potion,” he said.
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