Sorrow lay in the back of his mind as he withdrew, but he put it aside. ’ ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Miss Froxfield frostily. "At present under the care of his preserver—one Owen Wood, a carpenter, by whom he was brought up. I do not wish to blow off a head, you understand. "How is the patient?" he asked. ” She turned away. "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. He stopped, panting hard, slamming his cane to the floor to make use of its much-needed support.
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