Wood now re-appeared with a very red face; and, followed by Winifred, took her seat at the table. "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 would come and sit cross-legged just beyond the bamboo curtain and silently watch him at work. "Who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers. “But, of course, she may have come from one of the other flats. “I believe you are quite right so far as regards the present, at any rate,” someone remarked, from the depths of an easy chair.
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