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” “Did it come—in Paris?” “I do not know,” he answered. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. And then the fetters, which were still upon his legs:—how was he to get rid of them? Tired and dispirited, he still wandered on. You don’t know about Mary because you live in Kent. ’ ‘Only a few minutes, miss. And, though neither peace nor innocence can be restored to my bosom; though tears cannot blot out my offences, nor sorrow drown my shame; yet, knowing that my penitence is sincere, I do not despair that my transgressions may be forgiven.
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