" "I feel it," replied Jack, in a tone of agony, "and I feel it more on my poor mother's account than my own. Arrived there, their first object was to seek out Davies, by whom they were conducted to the lady's retreat,—a lone habitation, situated on the outskirts of Saint George's Fields in Southwark. " This expression was old in Ruth's ears. From the threshold she looked her accuser steadily and coldly in the face. But she had found it very difficult. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. ’ ‘It is true,’ insisted the lady. But his daughter might well have a claim.
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