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I care not. But I wanted to find out more, partly so I could share it with him. As he hesitated, unable to make up his mind what to do for the best, a heavy rumbling on the cobbles penetrated his absorption. "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. Abruptly she desisted, recoiled, and turned and fled up-stairs. ‘It is not easy. Fretting and fidgeting, he had, after an hour or so, turned to McClintock. I don't know whose brainless head it may be, but it'll do for my collection. ” “By God!” said Manning, making the most of the word, “I suppose it’s fate. . “If you speak—farewell.

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