He's coming. One of those hanging moments ensued— hypnotic. "Have nine years so changed me, that there is no trace left of your adopted son?" "God bless me!" ejaculated the carpenter, rubbing his eyes, "can—can it be?" "Surely," screamed Mrs. Ennison listened, and his eyes glowed. Melusine tilted her head to catch sight of her neck, and froze, staring at the image. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack. Pity he's ta'en to bad ways so airly. "Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. ” Ennison laughed softly.
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