"Jack," exclaimed the widow, starting up and drawing back the curtain. In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him. “Nigel is like all men,” Lady Lescelles continued. Had she not seen them go forth with tracts in their pockets and grins in their beards? To set fire to his imagination, to sting his sense of chivalry into being, to awaken his manhood, she must present some irresistible project. " "I hope such a thing never will happen again, my dear," observed Wood, mildly, "but, when it does, it will be time to consider what course we ought to pursue. ‘Too late by the time I realised to what a dunderhead I’d pledged my friendship. A long shrill cat-call in the gallery seemed to be the signal. John turned toward the short staircase as she alit upon the first creaky step.
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