The more her thoughts dwelt upon the subject, the more convinced she was that she could not go to any one for help; she would have to solve the riddle by her own efforts, by some future experience. "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. “She must be warned. ” “He was probably right,” she declared. " There had never been, from that fatal hour eight months gone down to this, the inclination to confess. But let the horses be in readiness. ’ Miss Froxfield intervened quickly as her betrothed showed signs of erupting again. .
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