She wanted to be on with the show. The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. He never retires to rest till daybreak—if at all. Accordingly, when she arrived at the Shovels, with which, as an old haunt in her bygone days of wretchedness she was well acquainted, instead of entering the principal apartment, which she saw at a glance was crowded with company of both sexes, she turned into a small room on the left of the bar, and, as an excuse for so doing, called for something to drink. Accounts were now always where he could put his hand on them. His face was downcast. She recalled that she had heard nothing that first time when Gerald and the captain had burst in upon her. "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. I am certainly no ghost. There’s stories, too, about his demonstrator, Capes Something or other. ‘I am extremely displeased. ‘Oh no, you don’t,’ said Gerald in a low tone. A conviction that her sister’s words were true had from the first possessed her.
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