But no matter how you phrase it, the end is the same. At this terrible juncture, Jack maintained his composure,—a smile played upon his face before the cap was drawn over it,—and the last words he uttered were, "My poor mother! I shall soon join her!" The rope was then adjusted, and the cart began to move. The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance. 'He's a good fellow, and 'twill all end well'. Good-bye. And when she took and married that Mr Charvill, we didn’t think to see her at Remenham House no more. Only in the sunshine; they would not answer my whistle on cloudy days.
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