"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. CHAPTER VII. But he looked back into the hall and spoke to the sergeant who could just be seen behind him. Only her face was clear, frail and delicate, almost flower-like, with the sad haunting eyes ever watching his. She saw its depraved eyes, but worse were the glittering teeth as it smiled. "Farewell!" cried Jack, embracing them. Smiling, the Chinaman gave the correct pronunciation. But he was wide awake.
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