It belonged to his father, and was worn by him on the night he was murdered. Recognising the handwriting, he glanced swiftly at the signature, and uttering an explosive curse, cast the paper from him. Good-bye. I had rather have trouble and hardship like that than be taken care of by others. But then—Oh! Madam, there are moments—moments of darkness, which overshadow a whole existence—in the lives of the poor houseless wretches who traverse the streets, when reason is well-nigh benighted; when the horrible promptings of despair can, alone, be listened to; and when vice itself assumes the aspect of virtue. This I have sworn to do—this I will do.
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