Opening a pair of large black eyes, the child fixed them for an instant upon Wood, and then, alarmed by the light, uttered a low and melancholy cry, which, however, was speedily stilled by the caresses of his mother, towards whom he extended his tiny arms, as if imploring protection. He advanced a step towards her. They then clambered over a hedge, and scaling another wall, got into the garden at the back of the house. She flushed with desire and happiness, her husband had returned to her and all would be aright. Satisfied, as he thought, that he had nothing to apprehend, the boy resumed his task, chanting, as he plied his knife with redoubled assiduity, the following—not inappropriate strains:— THE NEWGATE STONE. " "I cannot consent to it," replied Sir Rowland firmly.
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