It was his mother, and as he gazed on her pallid features and motionless frame, Jack's heart severely smote him. He would always see the picture of the huge, raw-boned Dutchman, haranguing and thundering the word of God into the dull ears of South Sea Islanders, who, an hour later, would be carrying fruit penitently to their wooden images. Below the window he saw two coolies carrying a coffin, which presently they callously dumped into a yawning pit. It isn’t all. For fifteen years!—so long as I can remember! All I wanted was a little love, a caress now and then. ‘Why, what have I said?’ ‘You said to me my name. Babies produced of vampire women are the real monsters, Lucia. "I know not—and care not," replied Jack.
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