Tell Lucy about the time you were nine years old and blew up the house, John. She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. "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. While the carpenter irresolutely quitted the room, with a strong presentiment of ill upon his mind, a light quick step was heard descending the stairs, and before he could call out to prevent it, a man was admitted into the passage. It seemed an emblem of the ruin he had caused. ’ ‘I don’t even know your granddaughter, ma’am. He took into his soul some of the father's misery, some of the daughter's, to mingle with his own.
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