He walked hastily to the side of the broad pavement and summoned a fiacre. " "And what—what was your answer?" demanded the widow, eagerly. . Death belongs to God, young man. Jack may be capable of much that is wicked, but he would never lift his hand against his friend,—of that I am assured. He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so.
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