It was his mother, and as he gazed on her pallid features and motionless frame, Jack's heart severely smote him. He started a dozen stories, but they all ended in the waste-basket. It was a serene and charming evening, and twilight was gently stealing over the face of the country. She rose at once with a little exclamation, half of surprise, half of pleasure. And yet, when you offered to help, it was what is to come that I had in mind. "Follow me, Thames," cried Jack, dropping into the chasm.
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