Jack was not half your age when he died. On the fifth day he had ventured speech with her. Thames Street was wholly impassable. “MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. "We may trust him," he added in a whisper; "he is a staunch friend of the good cause. " "I've just bethought me of a crib as'll serve their turn," interposed Sharples, "at any rate, they'll be out o' the vay, and as safe as two chicks in a coop.
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