"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. The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold. It seemed to him that a sort of mist had risen up between them. When she finally did take her own lover, it was not with a member of the household staff. Her fingers closed upon it instinctively. ’ The Mother Abbess—and indeed all the nuns, some of higher birth more fearful than others—were aghast at the horrors that had befallen the family Valade. Finger to his lips, Gerald pointed in the direction of the noise. It was no use. Wood; "to be sure you are! I wonder how you dare show your face in this house, hussy!" "I thought you sent for me, Ma'am," replied the widow, humbly.
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