"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. She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. His eyes were bright, and his voice had in it an unaccustomed timbre. Now, as she stared at the image of her own face, she recalled something Major Alderley had said. The Ragged Edge. The asylum was approached by a broad gravel walk, leading through a garden edged on either side by a stone balustrade, and shaded by tufted trees. “I don’t mind, of course, your seeing her sometimes, still there are differences— differences in social atmospheres. “I am very glad to hear you say it,” he repeated, and refrained from further inquiry. I’m not Gerald, remember. He was tried at the last Old Bailey sessions; and only escaped the gallows by impeaching his accomplices.
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