AN AGED SINNER. 55 



During the early part of her terrible vigil a wandering 

 thought would now and then cross the mind of the old sin- 

 ner, that if she lived to see the morning she would restore the 

 orphan's stolen treasure ; but as the paroxysms of her palsied 

 fear grew more violent, this resolve, if such it could be called, 

 became more vague, and, when fear had reached its height, 

 was lost altogether in unconsciousness. By the time the birds 

 began their morning twitter, the dame had, in some degree, 

 recovered ; but her mind, tinctured before with age's imbecil- 

 ity, had been hurried by the terrors of that night to the very 

 verge of fatuity. 



At the voice of the milkman, and the clatter of his pails, 

 she hobbled to the cottage-door, but without the mug, in 

 which, for her own and her boarder's breakfast, she usually 

 received her quarter-pint. 



" I say, dame," said the man, on her returning with the 

 milk-pot, "where's your young snip, Tombstone Tim?" 



It was a strange question, that. Who had ever before 

 thought, or cared, or asked about poor Tim ? and the query 

 was put with a look of meaning which seemed to say that the 

 inquiry was made for something more than merely to receive 

 information. The old woman might have had perception 

 enough remaining to notice this ; but whether she had or not, 

 she by no means liked the question, and it was repeated 

 twice before she answered, "Tim? why, lauk-a-day, he's 

 a-bed, I suppose." 



