"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. As usual Brendon lit the candles, and Sydney dragged out the spiritlamp and set it going. There one comes to a relationship that Mr. Here, it might be anything at all. ” Her hand hung over the side of her chair nearest to him. Spurlock relaxed, suddenly, and sank deeply into his pillows. ‘But do you not see that he will come again? I think it is better if you, both of you, go and leave me here to find—’ She broke off, looking away. No blowzy barmaids for him to-day: an American bar-keep to whom he could tell his troubles and receive the proper meed of sympathy.
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