The poor wretch, driven by desperation to the commission of a crime which her soul abhors, is no more beyond the hope of reformation than she is without the pale of mercy. A widow for the fourth time, Mrs. Time wore on somewhat slowly with the prisoner, who had to control his impatience in the best way he could; but as the shades of evening were darkening, the door was unlocked, and Mr. I tore the marriage certificate from his pocket and burnt it. That is so awful. They were a young man and an old one, and both appeared deeply affected. “Agreed,” he said, “certainly,” and drew a checkbook toward him.
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