The man lingered. " "Thieves!" exclaimed Mrs. She fell asleep instantaneously, fatigued from weeks of exhaustion. This was not exactly what the woollen-draper desired. "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. You are your own Heaven and your own Hell, Lucy. Would you mind drawing them back?” Ennison sprang up, but he never reached the curtains. ’ ‘Must we talk of it? I’m trying to forget it. .
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