He was going to tell me something— and he shut up. Winifred pointed to the door. Wood dandled his little charge to and fro, after the most approved nursery fashion, essaying at the same time the soothing influence of an infantine melody proper to the occasion; but, failing in his design, he soon lost all patience, and being, as we have before hinted, rather irritable, though extremely well-meaning, he lifted the unhappy bantling in the air, and shook him with so much good will, that he had well-nigh silenced him most effectually. "He sails to-morrow morning in the very vessel by which I start," replied Jack. He touched a long-standing sore, and Ann Veronica found herself vainly trying to explain—the inexplicable. He was damned if he knew what to do.
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