"Kidnapped, and sent to France by one uncle, it was my lot to fall into the hands of another,—my father's own brother, the Marshal Gaucher de Chatillon; to whom, and to the Cardinal Dubois, I owed all my good fortune. "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. “A joke! Sir John, if you had presented yourself here an hour ago we should have greeted you in pained silence. It had rained during the night, and the patch-work pavement was greasy with mud. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. Still he looked hale and hearty, and the country life he led had imparted a ruddier glow to his cheek.
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