The poor wretch, driven by desperation to the commission of a crime which her soul abhors, is no more beyond the hope of reformation than she is without the pale of mercy. "Mercy!" screamed Mrs. ’ ‘You ain’t never,’ gasped Pottiswick. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. “The Miss Pellissier who was at White’s with us. He seemed like a very intelligent doctor and not at all like a snooty archbishop. The door was locked; but, with the bars of iron, it was speedily burst open.
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