You must think of this evening, John, sometimes—as a sort of atonement. "No; I don't think I'd laugh. The woman shrugged her shoulders. ‘I know that, miss. Now I do. She hurried with Jack as fast as she could to the open door to the passage. It was his mother, and as he gazed on her pallid features and motionless frame, Jack's heart severely smote him. All the events of the previous day rushed to his recollection; and though he had been unintentionally the cause of his mother's death, he reproached himself as severely as if he had been her actual murderer. “For me there is no second turn.
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