He uttered a deep groan, but said nothing. A crisis of some kind was toward. " "Poor Jack!" sighed Thames. Swiftly he looked back to Melusine and found she had whisked to the window, dragging a pocket handkerchief from her sleeve and hastily blowing her nose. Amid a litter of nails without heads, screws without worms, and locks without wards, lay a glue-pot and an oilstone, two articles which their owner was wont to term "his right hand and his left. "What is all this, dear Winny?" inquired Thames, as soon as they were alone.
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