CHAPTER XIX.
THE MADHOUSE CELL.
When the porter of the madhouse went out to the coach, his first impression was, that the boy, who was said to be insane, was dead—for not even the jolting ride to Peckham had been sufficient to arouse him to a consciousness of how he was situated; and there he lay still at the bottom of the coach alike insensible to joy or sorrow.
“Is he dead?” said the man to the coachman.
“How should I know?” was the reply; “he may be or he may not, but I want to know how long I am to wait here for my fare?”
“There is your money, be off with you. I can see now that the boy is all right, for he breathes, although it’s after an odd fashion that he does so. I should rather think he has had a knock on the head, or something of that kind.”
As he spoke, he conveyed Tobias
