She did not forge a note. He realized that he was committed to the path across the fields, an uninteresting walk at the best of times. She knew now that he never would. He had more time for her. "Goodness only knows what he's reserved for," rejoined the widow in a desponding tone; "but if Mynheer Van Galgebrok, whom I met last night at the Cross Shovels, spoke the truth, little Jack will never die in his bed.
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