It was an unspoken curfew in the Beck house on week nights. "But I soon shall be," returned Jack; "take these," he added, flinging the handcuffs against the wooden partition, "and wear 'em yourself. 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. " "To be sure you are," replied Jonathan, laughing. ‘Give me my pistol!’ Gerald shook his head, slipping the pistol into his pocket.
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