” He gave the note to the parlormaid the next morning in an inadvertent, casual manner just as he was leaving the house to catch his London train. A short way off in the fields he descried a sort of shed or cow-house, and thither he contrived to drag his weary limbs. There were sidetables and a writing table, similarly buried in bric-a-brac, and the chair by the French doors could hardly be seen for blankets. It was his mother, and as he gazed on her pallid features and motionless frame, Jack's heart severely smote him. His tongue was more ready, his wit more keen than usual. “I think that you were inquiring for Mr. "The key," replied the widow.
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