" "Her release would be a mercy," pursued the matron. ” She looked at him, pleading, miserable in her fancy gown. No umbrella either, the sky was delightfully overcast. He did not so much cut into this conversation as loom over it, for he was a tall, if rather studiously stooping, man. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. "Ah! but," said I, "there's a great deal in being hanged.
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