She watched them sleep for what seemed hours from the high window until her body grew colder than the stone sill she perched upon. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. "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. "Don't weep, my love," replied the lady, straining him still more closely to her. We all have to kow-tow to that. After this occurence, not a word was exchanged between them until they came in sight of the sloop, which was lying at anchor off Wapping. She had never let off a pistol in her life.
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