“It is not that. It was John Diedermayer, who had been transformed into a young scholar with a large pair of wire-rimmed eyeglasses on. Day after day for a measured hour in the lecture-theatre, with elaborate power and patience, Russell pieced together difficulty and suggestion, instance and counter-instance, in the elaborate construction of the family tree of life. ‘Pray you, do me this one little service, and do not ask me why. No doubt that was due to his helplessness. Sir John followed her gaze, and also saw them. Perhaps my wife has already prepared you for what I wish to say. The work of plunder over, that of destruction commenced. "Had I not been the guilty wretch I am," he cried, bursting into an agony of tears, "she would never have died thus. "To be sure, it's not surprising the poor little thing should be so marked; for, when I lay in the women-felons' ward in Newgate, where he first saw the light, or at least such light as ever finds entrance into that gloomy place, I had nothing, whether sleeping or waking, but halters, and gibbets, and coffins, and such like horrible visions, for ever dancing round me! And then, you know, Sir—but, perhaps, you don't know that little Jack was born, a month before his time, on the very day his poor father suffered.
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