" The poor widow hung her head, and pressed her child closer to her breast. It's hereditary, like de jigt, vat you call it—gout —haw! haw!" "If the child is destined to the gibbet, Van Galgebrok," replied the Master, joining in the laugh, "it'll never be choked by a footman's cravat, that's certain; but, in regard to going back empty-handed," continued he, altering his tone, and assuming a dignified air, "it's quite out of the question. At one moment, it seemed as if the flying bark was about to put to shore. " "Funny, about that coat. ” Lord, he was right! But softly now. " "But you are young!" It was a protest, almost vehement. "Your ladyship has never been well since you married Sir Cecil," rejoined Mrs.
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