Her lips were apart, but no breath seemed to issue from them; and, but for a slight—very slight palpitation of the bosom, the vital principle might be supposed to be extinct. "Mur—der!" roared Wood, struggling to free himself from his assailant, by whom he was half strangled. "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. Ramage seemed always fencing about the forbidden topic, probing for openings, and she wondered why she did not give him them.
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