Accordingly, when she arrived at the Shovels, with which, as an old haunt in her bygone days of wretchedness she was well acquainted, instead of entering the principal apartment, which she saw at a glance was crowded with company of both sexes, she turned into a small room on the left of the bar, and, as an excuse for so doing, called for something to drink. "Open my heart, Father of Mercy!" she murmured, in a humble tone, and with downcast looks, "and make me sensible of the error of my ways. “MY DEAR FATHER,” she wrote,—“I have been thinking hard about everything since I was sent to this prison. Why should I?” “At last,” he murmured, “at last I have found you. “Rubbish!” he answered. org. Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene.
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