In the middle of the little town stood the shop of a Jew dealer in old clothes. Their conversation became stilted. But Sheppard took no notice of the exclamation. His conscience never told him to go back and take his punishment; it tortured him only in regard to the deed itself. They even threatened to cut the traces and take off the wheels from the carriage. While he was thus standing, the flames of his house, which made the whole street as light as day, and ruddily illumined the faces of the mob below, betrayed him to them, and he was speedily driven from his position by a shower of stones and other missiles.
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