. “Anna,” he cried eagerly. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. A deep dread calm, like that which precedes a thunderstorm, now prevailed amongst the assemblage. He stood by her side, and he suffered her hands to rest in his. And grasping the thick iron rod, she pushed with all her force against it, while Jack seconded her efforts from within. "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.
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