“I will put the question,” Drummond said gravely. The cell in which she was confined was about six feet long and four wide; the walls were scored all over with fantastic designs, snatches of poetry, short sentences and names,—the work of its former occupants, and of its present inmate. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. Day after day she pounded him with curses, saying that her mother looked down on him from Heaven and sent a curse, to which he laughed. But I shan't let him off thus. .
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