Chapter XXX
SIR JOHN’S NECKTIE
Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing
letters. Having watched the funeral at some distance, Jonathan
fancied he could discern the figure of Jack; but not being quite sure, he entered
the church. He is the kind of man who would much prefer a little dust in his
eyes. This occasioned a
little delay; but Jack, whose skill as a workman in the particular line he had
chosen was unequalled, and who laughed at difficulties, speedily cut out a panel
by means of a centre-bit and knife, took the key from the other side, and
unlocked the door. ‘How could you? No wonder mademoiselle is angry with you. Tears started to the young man's eyes on beholding the change, and it was with
difficulty he could command himself sufficiently to make the inquiries he
desired to do respecting the former owner of the house. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is
killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. ”
Their agreement so far seemed remarkable, and yet as a home-coming the
thing was a little lacking in warmth. ‘It is that he needed me for his lie, no?’ Melusine said, striving to control the
quiver in her voice. . ’
‘Poor sort of a mother,’ Martha said with bitterness. "No"—as if her thoughts were elsewhere.
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