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’ He turned to the lodgekeeper behind him, whose shocked fear had given place to a direful frown. " "Where are you going?" asked his mother. A new inexplicable madness that urged him to shrill ironically the story of his coat—to take it off and fling it at the feet of any stranger who chanced to be nigh. She helped Jack to sit down, and dragged the jacket off him, lifting his shirt to expose the gash that had sliced across his side. "He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter. "But I give no information gratis!" "Speak, then," said Rowland, placing money in his hand. ” “Right!” he said, and hesitated, and then got up and went into the preparationroom. . "Where is the boy?" demanded Sir Rowland. ” She said to him. Daughters were not like sons.
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