“Why should one pretend?” she whispered. He looked exactly as she had dreamed him, handsome, rigidly dressed in a black suit, his hair still half gray, his eyes green and flashing like a cat’s. But she was not there. It might prove rewarding. It had been his fevered imagination that had endued the garment with some extraordinary value. " Jack approached her. Wood was unable to discover the figure of the widow, but he recognised her dry, hacking cough, and was about to call her down, if she could not find the key, as he imagined must be the case, when a loud noise was heard, as though a chest, or some weighty substance, had fallen upon the floor. Almost the last female to bear the name, too,’ muttered the old lady.
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