"Get from under it, Jack!" vociferated Thames. "As it's getting late, and the porter may be gone to bed," he observed; "I'll take the pass-key, and let myself in. " "My poor son!" groaned the widow, sinking backwards. "Right!—right!" cried Jack, striking his fettered hands against his breast. As soon, however, as the last solemn rites were over, and the remains of the unfortunate woman committed to their final resting-place in Willesden churchyard, his firmness completely deserted him, and he sank beneath the weight of his affliction. She was not a reversion to type, which intimates the primordial; she suggested rather the incarnation of some goddess of the South Seas.
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