She was almost tempted to tell him, if only to see the cracks of surprise and incredulity break the immobility of his yellow countenance. But her request was unheeded. —"Oh! about that boy, Thames Darrell. "Here, Poll, help me!" Thus exhorted, Mrs. Mr. Earles asked sharply. So, one day, because God was wroth, her mother ran away with a blackguard, and died in the gutter, miserably. A little darling? Lord in heaven, he had taken leave of his senses. "He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter. ” “I met you accidentally,” he reminded her. But she made no answer.
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