" "Jack's mother?" exclaimed the young man. CHAPTER XXV Spurlock pushed back his helmet and sat down in the white sand, buckling his knees and folding his arms around them—pondering. And, though neither peace nor innocence can be restored to my bosom; though tears cannot blot out my offences, nor sorrow drown my shame; yet, knowing that my penitence is sincere, I do not despair that my transgressions may be forgiven. Oh, you must believe me. ToC That night Jack walked to Paddington, and took up his quarters at a small tavern, called the Wheat-sheaf, near the green. He had barely settled at his desk in his library, when he was disturbed by two morning callers. He recoiled from the sting. Kneebone was attired in the extremity of the mode. "I am. He sent me flowers.
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