"Here!" shrieked Lady Trafford. . "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. His hand shook so violently that he dropped the handkerchief; and he let it lie on the floor because he dared not stoop. Gerald smiled and crooked his elbow. The washerwoman reported that she had seen a man one day riding out for an early morning hunt, but was unsure of his identity.
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