"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. She directed him to an old part of the highway, a featureless stretch of old farmhouses capped in snow, with the occasional working silo. In a moment his grasp grew weaker. Sheppard, and regarding her with an insolent and threatening glance. "No such thing," rejoined the jailer; "he's coming on business. The guards, horse and foot, and constables formed a wide circle round it to keep off the mob. "Whose house do you want, master?" said the man, touching his hat.
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