Wearied at length with thinking on the past, and terrified by the prospect of the future, he threw himself on the straw with which the cage was littered, and endeavoured to compose himself to slumber. Had he had the child to think of, he might have recovered from his grief at Mary’s death. Bounding the corner of a garden wall, he came upon his former place of imprisonment. “Are you a special sort of clergyman,” she said, after a pause, and looking down her nose at him, “or do you go to the Universities?” “Oh!” he said, profoundly. Perhaps it had been pick-pocketed or jostled from her dress in a hunt.
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