Returning to Mrs Sindlesham’s chair, he held up the miniature so the face depicted there was turned towards the old lady. “Why don’t you wear your white blouse more often? It is the prettiest shirt you own. The hardest bout I ever had was with a woman—Sally Wells, who was afterwards lagged for shoplifting. The cell in which she was confined was about six feet long and four wide; the walls were scored all over with fantastic designs, snatches of poetry, short sentences and names,—the work of its former occupants, and of its present inmate. But you have not finished surely. In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him. His hand shook so violently that he dropped the handkerchief; and he let it lie on the floor because he dared not stoop. Jack was almost afraid of speaking; but at length he summoned courage to call out "Mother!" "Who's there?" asked a faint voice from the bed.
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