Poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!" Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,—deathlike and deep. Springing upon the box, he told the coachman to make the best of his way to Saint Giles's. Just as the attendants were preparing to lower the corpse into the earth, Jack fell on his knees beside the coffin, uttering the wildest exclamations of grief, reproaching himself with the murder of his mother, and invoking the vengeance of Heaven on his own head. " "I'll ring for one," replied Kneebone, rising accordingly; "but I fear my servants are gone to bed. Return to him, I say—" "I can't," replied Jack, doggedly.
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