CHAPTER XXVII. "Poor thing!" muttered he, as the widow departed on her errand, "she's seen better days and better circumstances than she'll ever see again, I'm sure. But one changes the style of one's clothes yearly. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. He met her eyes with his fiery black gaze. It was a moment of breathless interest to all engaged in the attempt. It is not you who runs the risk of going dinnerless to-morrow. What is it you’re after? Money, I suppose.
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