He was never known to err, and was as much dreaded as the jailfever in consequence. He glanced at his watch. “John, don’t!” she cried. " "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. The ticket line filtered slowly into the glass doors, growing louder and more boisterous by the minute. She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping. At this terrible juncture, Jack maintained his composure,—a smile played upon his face before the cap was drawn over it,—and the last words he uttered were, "My poor mother! I shall soon join her!" The rope was then adjusted, and the cart began to move. She could see that she was now the exclusive object of the boy’s attention. Certain of my prey, I can afford to wait for it.
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