She came to spend hours with the bastard children that the women brought, dressing and feeding the tiny ones, inventing games for the older ones. She was quite tired of the stream of visitors and heard with relief the words of her newfound great-aunt, addressed to her son’s butler. "Have a little patience, Sir," rejoined the jailer. Annabel shines like a star in the darkness, Rosamund queens it a rose, deep rose; But the lady I love is like sunshine in April weather, She gleams and gladdens, she warms—and goes. A scene now ensued, highly characteristic of the age, and the occasion.
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