I wanted to have something to give up. "And someday let him care for me!" She sprang up, alarmed. Here was an appalling fact: all her previous loneliness had been trifling beside that which now encompassed her and would for years to come. Shrinking involuntarily back into the farthest corner of the seat, Jack buried his face in his hands. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. "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. But we were both pledged to secrecy, and I couldn’t reveal my part for fear that I would lose my place.
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