"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. Submission to the inevitable carried her through the circumstances of her appearance before the magistrate. "I have done nothing—nothing to what I could do—to what I will do!" "You've done quite enough," rejoined Austin; "more than you'll ever do again. They're only just gone, mercy on us! what a clatter," she added, as the knocking was repeated more violently than before. ” The lights sank, the prelude to the third act was beginning, the music rose and fell in crowded intimations of lovers separated—lovers separated with scars and memories between them, and the curtain went reefing up to display Tristan lying wounded on his couch and the shepherd crouching with his pipe.
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