"Off!" she cried with a prolonged and piercing shriek. ’ ‘Oh, that,’ Gerald said cautiously. "Goodness only knows what he's reserved for," rejoined the widow in a desponding tone; "but if Mynheer Van Galgebrok, whom I met last night at the Cross Shovels, spoke the truth, little Jack will never die in his bed. ‘The wretch said nothing to anyone. She looked more than her sixty odd years, in spite of a still lush head of black hair, streaked with a little grey, which was visible under her cap and of immediate interest to Gerald.
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