The packets were hastily broken open; and, while Wood was absorbed in the perusal of the despatch addressed to him by Sir Rowland, Thames sought out, and found the letter which he had been prevented from finishing on the fatal night at Jonathan Wild's. As his eyes adjusted, he was able to make out the great shrouded shapes of the furniture. I shall count it a privilege. "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. They will say that it was murder. "In the hall," replied Charcam. Abruptly she desisted, recoiled, and turned and fled up-stairs. That turned her mind to the more generalized aspects of her perplexities again. That glove is still preserved.
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