That she possessed any sense of humour was in itself one of those human miracles which metaphysicians are always pothering over without arriving anywhere; for her previous environment had been particularly humourless. Fretting and fidgeting, he had, after an hour or so, turned to McClintock. Torment! And so Ruth discovered him. "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. "I repeat," said Ah Cum, "that the venture is not propitious. "Hear me, Sir Rowland!" he cried.
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