The old lady clearly read his state of mind, for the apparently irrepressible dimple peeped out. "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. . . Yet you knew that I was not dead. “Heavens!” exclaimed Ann Veronica, with extraordinary passion. This unexpected interpolation might spoil the efficacy of all that had gone before. The entire place was a masterpiece of wooden carving, a design of interleaving carried throughout. Spurlock was no longer a man before this instinct; he was a child in trouble. What a frightened fool he was! If he could not remember her name, it was equally possible that already she had forgotten his.
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