You do not know him. Her eyes flashed. It would be useless to tell her to go back, even heartless; and yet he could not advise her to go on, blindly, not knowing whether her aunt was dead or alive. Before her stretched blank spaces, dotted with running people coming toward her, and below them railings and a statue. “I think that I will leave this letter for him,” she said. From first to last, on this occasion, her aunt expostulated for about two hours. The poor widow was thrown into an agony of distress on learning that a robbery had been committed, in which her son (for she could not doubt that Jack was one of the boys,) was implicated; nor was her anxiety alleviated by Mrs.
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