"Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. Mr. She was by his side. " "That boy'll never rest till he finds his vay to Bridewell," observed Sharples. I did all for the best, I'm sure. After a while, he raised his eyes; and, if their glance could have been witnessed at the moment, it could not have been easily forgotten. And for twelve years he has been so; until his long security, well-nigh obliterating remembrance of the deed, has bred almost a sense of innocence within his breast. He seemed to be thinking hard. He confided to me that he felt trapped in his marriage, that he was being ruined by fate. "Well, my pretty dears," he added, "—to see your husband, eh? You must make the most of your time.
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