A thing which had mystified her since childhood, a smouldering wonder why it should be, and until now she had never felt the urge to investigate. ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Gerald. "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. You'll find those young ladies extremely agreeable acquaintances. And now she had sent Jack away. I found it on the beach, just sitting there nestled inside a piece of driftwood.
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