"Now, give me the woollen cloth to tie round my fetters," whispered Sheppard. And now she was witnessing or observing the complicated machinery of civilization through which they had come, at length to land on the beach of her island. A white apron was tied round his waist, and into the apron was thrust a short thick truncheon, which looked very much like a rolling-pin. She had lost it. Her fancy dress, save for the green-gray stockings, the pseudo-Turkish slippers, and baggy silk trousered ends natural to a Corsair’s bride, was hidden in a large black-silk-hooded operacloak.
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