The aunt laughed. “Oh, you know,” she said. Brendon was silent. The Times slipped from his fingers. But, when I look upon his innocent face, and see how like he is to his father,—when I think of that father's shameful ending, and recollect how free from guilt he once was,—at such times, Mr. Both, perhaps?’ At that, her eyes darkened with fury. It was only by the adoption of such a course (especially since the late act of suppression, to which we have alluded,) that the inviolability of the asylum could be preserved. Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself. "But it is much to me.
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