These were less like streets than labyrinths, hewn through an eternal twilight. There was nothing on her face to hint of the misery that brimmed her heart this morning. The poor widow was thrown into an agony of distress on learning that a robbery had been committed, in which her son (for she could not doubt that Jack was one of the boys,) was implicated; nor was her anxiety alleviated by Mrs. When first brought under consideration, she was a miserable and forlorn object; squalid in attire, haggard in looks, and emaciated in frame. ‘Is it worth it?’ he asked at last. He held down the light, and a moment afterwards beckoned, with a blanched cheek, to Rowland.
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