It was not without considerable demur and delay on the part of Sharples that the carpenter and his companion could gain admittance to the round-house. He was interesting and inconclusive, and the original papers to which he referred her discursive were at best only suggestive. "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. One thing—he could be thankful for that—the peak of his misfortunes had been reached; the world might come to an end now and not matter in the least. CHAPTER XII. "Every brick I take out," cried Jack, as fresh rubbish clattered down the chimney, "brings me nearer my mother. ’ Gerald dropped down to join her just as her hand came up, clutching the handle.
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