"I know not—and care not," replied Jack. But the letter, written in his son’s own hand, and addressed to the Mother Abbess of the Convent of the Sisters of Wisdom near Blaye in the district of Santonge, dated a little over five years previously, exercised a powerful effect upon him. "My wife and daughter, Sir," said the carpenter, introducing them to his guest. ” He nodded. “Fred,” he said, “do you remember taking me to dinner at the ‘Ambassador’s,’ one evening last September, to meet a girl who was singing there? Hamilton and Drummond and his lot were with us. Adieu!" And, snatching a hasty kiss, he darted after Jack.
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