"By the way," said the doctor, as he sat down in the dining room of the Victoria and ordered tea, "I've been thinking it over. I can't spare you at present. "What?—help take care of him? Why, you can't do that, Miss Enschede!" was the protest. I care not. "Mother! dear mother!" cried Jack, folding her to his breast. ’ ‘You ain’t never,’ gasped Pottiswick. In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him.
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