"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. The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me. He rose slowly and extended it. I change them in the morning at Cannon Street, and take my book as I come down. But your cracked skull is by no means a pleasing spectacle. “I am very glad to hear you say it,” he repeated, and refrained from further inquiry. “But I wish,” she said, “I had some idea what I was really up to. The young officer sat in front, his hat perfectly straight.
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