The pouting cherry lips were slightly parted and the very faintest of panting breaths, together with the quick rise and fall of an alluring bosom, betrayed her fear. She had no inkling of that insupportable wrong. Just as the attendants were preparing to lower the corpse into the earth, Jack fell on his knees beside the coffin, uttering the wildest exclamations of grief, reproaching himself with the murder of his mother, and invoking the vengeance of Heaven on his own head. Not a word was uttered by the assemblage; but a hush of expectation reigned throughout. Somebody may be on the watch—perhaps, that old ginger-hackled Jew. Nobody could possibly find him now. Aunt Jane had her quiet moments. Some automaton within her produced in a quite unfamiliar voice the remark, “They’re playing football. Wild's orders. Never really thought about Him—people don’t. And what a noise they made! This is how I used to call them. He could not make good his hold.
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