On this side was a razor with which a son had murdered his father; the blade notched, the haft crusted with blood: on that, a bar of iron, bent, and partly broken, with which a husband had beaten out his wife's brains. "Oh, God! that I might die too," cried Jack, falling on his knees beside her. " Broken pipes littered the floor, if that can be said to be littered, which, in the first instance, was a mass of squalor and filth. There was more to be told, and this was as good a time as any. See how he gets on, father," he added, appealing to Wood: "the box seems to grow under his hands. So absorbed was she by her passionate supplications that she was insensible to anything passing around her, until she felt a touch upon her shoulder, and heard a well-known voice breathe in her ear—"Mother!" She started at the sound as if an apparition had called her, screamed, and fell into her son's outstretched arms. Clearing the few impediments in his way, he soon reached the condemned pew, where it had once been his fate to sit; and extending himself on the seat endeavoured to snatch a moment's repose. He HAD followed her! What had he followed her for? He must have followed her all the way from beyond Grosvenor Square. Poor young lady! She trembled too, and was unable to give her evidence. “That,” he said, grimly, with his hand on the doorhandle, “must be your own affair, unless you choose to live at Morningside Park. .
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