The door was opened, and Austin entered the cell, when he absolutely recoiled before the spectacle he beheld, and could scarcely have looked more alarmed if the prison had tumbled about his ears. But I’m going to-day. It was a boy baby cooing in swaddling clothes, a baby who had just been born to the butcher's servant across the alley, the maid Isobella who trailed behind, beaming. I begin to understand Jane Austen and chintz covers and decency and refinement and all the rest of it. “You are a miracle! God spares few from the Pestilence.
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