She had arranged for a supper of tea, a boiled egg, and some tinned peaches. At this terrible juncture, Jack maintained his composure,—a smile played upon his face before the cap was drawn over it,—and the last words he uttered were, "My poor mother! I shall soon join her!" The rope was then adjusted, and the cart began to move. All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shattered themselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them. She thought of him as always courteous and helpful, as realizing, indeed, his ideal of protection and service, as chivalrously leaving her free to live her own life, rejoicing with an infinite generosity in every detail of her irresponsive being. He had studied alchemy and astronomy, was a capable painter, and even wrote music. He was confounded by the presence in which he found himself. He must fight the thought continually, day in and day out. We'll have him yet.
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