"I am no man's mistress," answered the widow, crimsoning to her temples, but preserving her meek deportment, and humble tone. Let your father—if he chooses, leave all his wealth to his adopted son. Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him. Sometimes a whole morning would pass without Spurlock uttering a word beyond the request for a drink of water. “It’s bound to be all right,” she said. “More coffee, hon?” She held her hand over the cup. She had not seen him in two and a half centuries.
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