Like one entranced, he stood, eyes wide opened, and fixed upon the ground, until the constable came, and he found himself being driven away in a coach, to the jail, where he was lodged for the night—­still dazed by the terrible change in his affairs.

It was a long night, but Kit slept, and dreamed too—­always of being at liberty.  At last the morning dawned, and the turnkey who came to unlock his cell, and show him where to wash, told him that there was a regular time for visiting every day, and that if any of his friends came to see him, he would be fetched down to the grate, and that he was lodged apart from the mass of prisoners, because he was not supposed to be utterly depraved and irreclaimable.  Kit was thankful for this indulgence, and sat reading the Church Catechism, until the man entered again.

“Now then,” he said.  “Come on!”

“Where to, sir?” asked Kit.

The man contented himself by briefly replying “Wisitors,” and led Kit down behind a grating, outside which, and beyond a railing, Kit saw with a palpitating heart, his mother with the baby in her arms; and poor little Jacob, who, when he saw his brother, and thrusting his arms between the rails to hug him, found that he came no nearer, began to cry most piteously, whereupon Kit’s mother burst out sobbing and weeping afresh.  Poor Kit could not help joining them, and not a word was spoken for some time.

“Oh, my darling Kit!” said his mother at last “That I should see my poor boy here!”

“You don’t believe that I did what they accuse me of, mother, dear?” cried Kit, in a choking voice.

“I, believe it!” exclaimed the poor woman.  “I, that never knew you tell a lie or do a bad action from your cradle.  I believe it of the son that’s been a comfort to me from the hour of his birth until this time! I believe it of you, Kit!”

“Why then, thank God!” said Kit.  “Come what may, I shall always have one drop of happiness in my heart when I think that you said that.”

At this the poor woman fell a-crying again, and soon, all too soon, the turnkey cried “Time’s up!” and Kit was taken off in an instant, with a blessing from his mother and a scream from little Jacob ringing in his ears.

Eight weary days dragged themselves along, and on the ninth the case of Christopher Nubbles came up in Court; and the aforesaid Christopher was called upon to plead guilty or not guilty to an indictment for that he, the aforesaid Christopher, did feloniously abstract and steal from the dwelling-house and office of one Sampson Brass, gentleman, one bank-note for five pounds, issued for Governor and Company of the Bank of England.

By a cleverly worked-up case on his opponent’s side, Kit is so cross-examined as to be found guilty by the jury, and is sentenced to be transported for a term of years.

Kit’s mother, poor woman, is waiting, and when the news is told a sad interview ensues. “He never did it!” she cries.