To escape one phase of loneliness she had plunged into another, so vast that her courage sometimes faltered. "You shall see him to-morrow. "There won't be much left for you," he said. "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. I feel that I shall stifle unless I can do something—and do something soon. Now, he must have folks somewhere. To have sprung this upon them to-night would have been worth a thousand pounds.
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