"Ah!" exclaimed Jack, starting to his feet. I thought perhaps you were staying with them, as you did not seem particularly anxious to recognize your old friends. “Look after her! Why not? But you have done it all your life. "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. He read but little, and that chiefly healthy light fiction with chromatic titles, The Red Sword, The Black Helmet, The Purple Robe, also in order “to distract his mind. And, lastly, to the Seven Cities o' Refuge, in the New Mint. He stared at the woman depicted thereon for a long moment, awe in his head.
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