"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. ‘That rascally knave sent you to become a French nun?’ Looking positively terrified, the girl nodded dumbly. " "So that is what separated us! Oh, Hoddy, you have wasted so many wonderful days! Why didn't you tell me?" "I couldn't!" He made as though to draw away, but her arms became hoops of steel. "It is her child!" shrieked Rowland, in a voice heard above the howling of the tempest, "risen from this roaring abyss to torment me.
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