Lady Lescelles, graceful, very fashionably but quietly dressed, leaned back and watched her with shrewd kindly eyes. "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. You know that, and I know that, though we might be put to it to find a reason why. Further on, there were impressions of bloody footsteps along the floor. She evolved a dim image of herself cooped up in a house under the benevolent shadow of Mr. It was scarcely likely that she would have accepted his aid. He not only failed in making any impression, but seemed to increase the difficulties, for after an hour's toil he had broken the nail and slightly bent the iron bar.
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