Fly! fly!" "Do not think of me, mother, but of yourself," cried Jack, in an agony of tears. Pottiswick’s daughter found her tongue. The skies became brilliant; the dry monsoon was setting in. Remote little Ann Veronica! She would never know the heart of that child again! That child had loved fairy princes with velvet suits and golden locks, and she was in love with a real man named Capes, with little gleams of gold on his cheek and a pleasant voice and firm and shapely hands. Oh! Jack, Jack, you've much to answer for!" "I have, indeed," replied Sheppard, in a tone of contrition.
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