"But what is an oath to you!" cried the widow, distrustfully. . . . Satisfied with his scrutiny, he produced a pocket-flask, and taking off the silver cup with which it was mounted, filled it with the contents of the flask, and then seizing the thin arm of the sleeper, rudely shook it. I must apologize, I suppose, for speaking to you, but your appearance certainly indicated that you were in some sort of trouble, and you were becoming—pardon me—an object of comment to the passers-by. She was tempted to touch him in the car as they drove to the empty house, but she refrained for fear of causing a car accident. " "Never fear," replied Jack.
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