F. Wood's displeasure; and he was the more readily induced to do this, as the conversation began to turn upon his own affairs. "The worst house in the neighbourhood—the constant haunt of reprobates and thieves," groaned Wood. I love everything to-day, and all of you, but I love this, this—this innocence upon us most of all. You are wholly in my power. There was once a philanthropist who dressed with shameful shabbiness and carried pearls in his pocket. Closing the door, Jonathan next produced his lantern, and, hastening towards the window, undrew a bolt by which it was fastened. From a bi-secting street came shouting and music. I was sure you could not have the heart to slay a child—an innocent child. "I thought as much," continued Jonathan. ‘Tell me, my boy. The twins weren’t far behind, they got put into the psych ward too. Opening a pair of large black eyes, the child fixed them for an instant upon Wood, and then, alarmed by the light, uttered a low and melancholy cry, which, however, was speedily stilled by the caresses of his mother, towards whom he extended his tiny arms, as if imploring protection.
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