What's-your-name?" "Shotbolt, Sir," replied the jailer. It was rude and disrespectful to raise her eyes to him, her mother had warned. He poured a pinch of tobacco into his palm and sniffed. Let me say it to you. "But if it is thy will to take me from him," she continued, as soon as her emotion permitted her,—"if he must be left an orphan amid strangers, implant, I beseech thee, a mother's feelings in some other bosom, and raise up a friend, who shall be to him what I would have been.
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