"But trifle with mo no longer. When anybody is natural, these days, we dub them queer. That glove is still preserved. " Her son complied, and sat down upon the patch-work coverlet beside her. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. It was the very spot from which his poor mother had gazed after her vain attempt to rescue him at the Mint; but, though he was ignorant of this, her image was alone present to him. The white cloth was instantly dyed with crimson; but, regardless of this, Jonathan continued his murderous assault.
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