The door was closed— locked,—and the pair were heard descending the stairs. "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. The movement was fatal to her son. There are so many things I want to tell you, and they stand on such different levels, that the effect is necessarily confusing and discordant, and I find myself doubting if I am really giving you the thread of emotion that should run through all this letter. "No offence," returned Jonathan. Gianfrancesco took her that night gently, for which she was glad. ‘Dieu du ciel, for what do you take me?’ ‘I don’t know,’ he threw at her.
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