"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. ” And she pressed her lips together in white resolution and nodded, and she was manifestly full of that same passion for conflict and selfsacrifice that has given the world martyrs since the beginning of things. One day her mother swept into the bedroom of the family townhouse, sweeping across the floor with a bundle in her arms. It did not shock her; it amazed her, interested her beyond measure. At length, the train approached St.
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