"Don't stir," replied Jack. Hill closed his eyes. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. During the previous night he had been restless; and in the lonely dragging hours his thoughts had raced in an endless circle—action without progress. He had been frozen in time at age forty-two.
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