rd at the sympathies of the jury: he went head over ears into
the miseries of her past career, and shocked everybody in court in the
most workman-like manner. Shall I take the same line? Do you want to
know all about her, from the time when she was in short frocks and
frilled trousers? or do you prefer getting on at once to her first
appearance as a prisoner in the dock?"

"I want to know all about her," said his father, eagerly. "The
worst, and the best--the worst particularly. Don't spare my feelings,
Jemmy--whatever you do, don't spare my feelings! Can't I look at the
papers myself?"

"No, you can't. They would be all Greek and Hebrew to you. Thank your
stars that you have got a sharp son, who can take the pith out of these
papers, and give it a smack of the right flavor in serving it up. There
are not ten men in England who could tell you this woman's story as I
can tell it. It's a gift, old gentleman, of the sort that is given to
very few people--and it lodges here."

He tapped his forehead smartly, and turned to the first page of the
manuscript before him, with an unconcealed triumph at the prospect
of exhibiting his own cleverness, which was the first expression of a
genuine feeling of any sort that had escaped him yet.

"Miss Gwilt's story begins," said Bashwood the younger, "in the
market-place at Thorpe Ambrose. One day, something like a quarter of a
century ago, a traveling quack doctor, who dealt in perfumery as well
as medicines, came to the town with his cart, and exhibited, as a living
example of the excellence of his washes and hair-oils and so on, a
pretty little girl, with a beautiful complexion and wonderful hair. His
name was Oldershaw. He had a wife, who helped him in the perfumery part
of his business, and who carried it on by herself after his death. She
has risen in the world of late years; and she is identical with that sly
old lady who employed me professionally a short time since. As for the
pretty little girl, you know who she was as well as I do. While the
quack was haranguing the mob and showing them the child's hair, a young
lady, driving through the marketplace, stopped her carriage to hear what
it was all about, saw the little girl, and took a violent fancy to her
on the spot. The young lady was the daughter of Mr. Blanchard, of Thorpe
Ambrose. She went home, and interested her father in the fate of the
innocent little victim of the quack doctor. The same evening, the
Oldershaws we