Bon. “Too late, my dear girl,” she exclaimed. "It is your son. CHAPTER XXIII. Smith had never seen anything like it. She had imagined she had drowned them altogether. There sat Jack, evidently in the last stage of intoxication, with his collar opened, his dress disarranged, a pipe in his mouth, a bowl of punch and a halfemptied rummer before him,—there he sat, receiving and returning, or rather attempting to return,—for he was almost past consciousness,—the blandishments of a couple of females, one of whom had passed her arm round his neck, while the other leaned over the back of his chair and appeared from her gestures to be whispering soft nonsense into his ear. Dreams of adorable infants danced through her head as she cradled blankets in her arms. ” “Sounds good. It was the crowned queen of mountains in her robes of shining white.
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