"Her blood be upon her own head, then," replied Rowland, sternly. He flung himself backwards, hit the dais and fell heavily before the altar, losing his low-crowned beaver. “Is it any one you know?” Brendon asked. "At length, I have my wish," continued Mrs. F. "To be sure, it's not surprising the poor little thing should be so marked; for, when I lay in the women-felons' ward in Newgate, where he first saw the light, or at least such light as ever finds entrance into that gloomy place, I had nothing, whether sleeping or waking, but halters, and gibbets, and coffins, and such like horrible visions, for ever dancing round me! And then, you know, Sir—but, perhaps, you don't know that little Jack was born, a month before his time, on the very day his poor father suffered. "Why you pretended not to recognize the photograph of the young fellow you toted around these diggings all day yesterday.
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