"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. He had mentioned teaching her how to read Latin one day when she had wandered into the library. She had prepared herself to meet violent protest, a recurrence of that burning glance. But it's French manners, I suppose. Robbed of their prey, the fury of the mob became ungovernable. He seemed to know a great deal about life. She went to the post-office and drew out and sent off her money to Ramage. Let's talk of this chap. A wide terrace then led to large iron gates,' over which were placed the two celebrated figures of Raving and Melancholy Madness, executed by the elder Cibber, and commemorated by Pope in the Dunciad, in the wellknown lines:— "Close to those walls where Folly holds her throne, And laughs to think Monroe would take her down, Where, o'er the gates, by his famed father's hand, Great Cibber's brazen, brainless brothers stand. She rose from her chair, and began walking up and down the room restlessly. “I rue the day I ever met you, Sebastianus. ’ Lady Bicknacre, resplendent in purple satin, and basking in her triumphantly full rooms—for it was obvious that her patronage of the refugees had set a quickly to be followed fashion—was all sorrow and sympathy when Gerald spoke of them.
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