They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. Though not much passed the middle term of life, he seemed prematurely stricken with old age. "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. ” Sir John, frankly oblivious of the possibility of passers-by, took her into his arms and kissed her.
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