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. —'We'll do it,' said they, filling their glasses, and looking as fierce as King George's grenadier guards; 'here's your health, Mint. With astonishment, Gerald saw a rheumy film rimming his old commander’s eyes. Plainly. Wood had prevented him from paying much attention to the previous scene. It isn't as if he were stricken with typhoid or pneumonia or something like that.
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