He stands before you," rejoined her son.

"Where?" she cried. "I can't see him. Where is he?"

"Here," answered Jack.

"Are you his ghost, then?"

"No--no," answered Jack. "I am your most unhappy son."

"Let me touch you, then; let me feel if you are really flesh and blood,"
cried the poor maniac, creeping towards him on all fours.

Jack did not advance to meet her. He could not move; but stood like one
stupified, with his hands clasped together, and eyes almost starting out
of their sockets, fixed upon his unfortunate parent.

"Come to me!" cried the poor maniac, who had crawled as far as the chain
would permit her,--"come to me!" she cried, extending her thin arm
towards him.

Jack fell on his knees beside her.

"Who are you?" inquired Mrs. Sheppard, passing her hands over his face,
and gazing at him with a look that made him shudder.

"Your son," replied Jack,--"your miserable, repentant son."

"It is false," cried Mrs. Sheppard. "You are not. Jack was not half your
age when he died. They buried him in Willesden churchyard after the
robbery."

"Oh, God!" cried Jack, "she does not know me. Mother--dear mother!" he
added, clasping her in his arms, "Look at me again."

"Off!" she exclaimed, breaking from his embrace with a scream. "Don't
touch me. I'll be quiet. I'll not speak of Jack or Jonathan. I won't dig
their graves with my nails. Don't strip me quite. Leave me my blanket!
I'm very cold at night. Or, if you must take off my clothes, don't dash
cold water on my head. It throbs cruelly."

"Horror!" cried Jack.

"Don't scourge me," she cried, trying to hide herself in the farthest
corner of the cell. "The lash cuts to the bone. I can't bear it. Spare
me, and I'll be quiet--quiet--quiet!"

"Mother!" said Jack, advancing towards her.

"Off!" she cried with a prolonged and piercing shriek. And she buried
herself beneath the straw, which she tossed above her head with the
wildest gestures.

"I shall kill her if I stay longer," muttered her son, completely
terrified.

While he was considering what would be best to do, the poor maniac, over
whose bewildered brain another change had come, raised her head from
under the straw, and peeping round the room, asked in a low voice, "If
they were gone?"

"Who?" inquired Jack.

"The nurses," she answered.

"Do they treat you ill?" asked her son.

"Hush!" she said, putting her lean fingers to her lips. "Hush!--come
hither, and I'll tell you."

Jack ap