Below the window he saw two coolies carrying a coffin, which presently they callously dumped into a yawning pit. A piece of seaweed touched her hand, tender and green. Suddenly he felt Ruth swing violently away from him, and he wheeled to learn the cause. "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. Any one very badly moved choked down a few mouthfuls; the symptom of supreme distress was not to be able to touch a bit.
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