They had not proceeded far when a low moan was heard. "I can never get poor Tom's last look out of my head, as he stood in the Stone-Hall at Newgate, after his irons had been knocked off, unless I manage to stupify myself somehow. No: I must face it out. "Here, Poll, help me!" Thus exhorted, Mrs. Sheppard, who had again looked round towards her son, beheld a hand glance along the side of the woollendraper. Until the age of five she adored him. Enough to let her find out a piece of information most urgent. He was therefore obliged to use the iron bar, which he did with as much caution as circumstances would permit. Winifred's face had a thoroughly amiable look.
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