He did not particularly care. The wedding day came shortly after she turned fourteen. They thought that he was dead at first, and they took him to the hospital. Lady Ferringhall listened, and her cheeks grew pale. "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. He did not care whether the stories were accepted or not. She had to school herself to speak the words which she knew would cut him like a knife.
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