"You must have some touch of pity in your heart for my condition.

Do not send me to jail to-night," she continued in an earnest tone.

"If your own heart is steeled against the sorrows of a helpless and wretched woman; if the sight of that dead face does not awaken a spark of manly pity within you, let me entreat you, by the memory of the mother you once had, not to tear me from the body of my child.

The hours of night will pass of rapidly, and by the dawn of morning my daughter shall be buried." This was the first touch of feeling she had manifested, and though no tears bedewed her cheeks, the swelling of her bosom and the anguished look she wore, told of sorrow more terrible than if tears had come.
The wretch was unmoved.

He stood there, not thinking of the solemn and heart-rending scene before him, but of the money he had lost, and the chance of its being found on the person of Mrs.Wentworth.
"Do your duty, policemen," he said, without appearing as if he had heard her remarks.
"It is well," she said, and walking up to the bedside of her dead child, she lifted the body until it almost assumed a standing position.