Niece and aunt regarded each other for a moment over their pockethandkerchiefs with watery but antagonistic eyes, each far too profoundly moved to see the absurdity of the position. She turned the television off. If only he had known it, sympathy was almost entirely with him. "Do not go near him, mother," cried Jack; "do not believe him. "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 wasn't sure, but he thought he saw a faint shudder stir her shoulders. Sheppard, passionately,—"he has my boundless gratitude, and devotion. By a sort of instinct. " "What faith is to be kept with a felon?" replied the woollen-draper, disdainfully. "Given a chance, I can make bread and butter.
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