"Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. " "Unworthy, indeed!" sneered Mrs. How she needed him! Next moment, she had wrenched open the door, and was confronting her guard. I'll bet you haven't given her a bucket of paint in three years. The drawers at the moment were too busy to attend to her, and she would have seized the opportunity of examining, unperceived, the assemblage within, through a little curtained window that overlooked the adjoining chamber, if an impediment had not existed in the shape of Baptist Kettleby, whose portly person entirely obscured the view. ’ The lady’s face came round, a puzzled frown on her brow.
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