"What!" she exclaimed, almost choked with passion,—"I advised you to burthen yourself with that idle and good-for-nothing pauper, who'm you ought rather to send to the workhouse than maintain at your own expense, did I! I advised you to take him as an apprentice; and, so far from getting the regular fee with him, to give him a salary? I advised you to feed him, and clothe him, and treat him like his betters; to put up with his insolence, and wink at his faults? I counselled all this, I suppose. “You shall,” she said. Shotbolt, who had in some degree recovered from the effects of his previous mortification, was thrown into an ecstacy of delight, and could not sufficiently exult over the prisoner. He was a tall man and fair, with bluish eyes that were rather protuberant, and long white hands of which he made a display. Now, abruptly, they were real again, though very distant, and she had come to say farewell to them across one sundering year. Its dreariness, like the filthiness of the police cell, was a discovery for her.
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