I don’t mean I’m not a good woman—I mean that I’m not a GOOD woman. The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me. " "A miniature! Of whom?" "That I can't say," replied Jack, mysteriously. And imprinting a kiss upon his mother's cold lips, he left the room. But was that enough? Dim, formless suspicions of something more vital wandered about his mind. The cell in which she was confined was about six feet long and four wide; the walls were scored all over with fantastic designs, snatches of poetry, short sentences and names,—the work of its former occupants, and of its present inmate. All this while he was arranging the medicines on the stand and jotting down his instructions on a chart sheet.
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