"And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. —'How so?' says I. She ran 60 past it with melancholic dread towards the slope that led to the ocean. "You musht do dat shob yourself, Mishter Vild," rejoined Abraham, shaking his head. " "I've nothing to confess," replied Thames, boldly; "I've done no wrong. ” Sir John was speechless. The man who came to our rooms, you know, that night was his friend.
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