"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. ’ He regarded her thoughtfully. ” He looked at her with white, set face. But to-day he did not get beyond half a dozen desultory start-offs. She remembered him as a dull figure, a big man with a belly that was already showing fat under his fine scarlet clothes. They sat down at the dining room table which seemed empty and 259 huge in the stark, white-walled room. I want to know—just as much as I can. I think it inadvisable—I don’t want an intimacy to spring up between you and a man of that type. See, it is on my cards—M. . " "Hold!" exclaimed the carpenter, in an authoritative voice: "we can't part thus.
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