That night a grave was dug in Willesden churchyard, next to that in which Mrs. Wood and Thames taking their places on either side of it, and Jack at a little distance behind. “MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. "Not entirely," replied Jonathan, calmly; "though I shouldn't be ashamed of it if it were. Jack may be capable of much that is wicked, but he would never lift his hand against his friend,—of that I am assured. "Your son," answered the boy. During this dreadful pause the wretched man felt for his sword. ’ It seems that I was mistaken. “John! Welcome! Happy Thanksgiving!” Cathy cried, ushering him deeper into the house.
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