Lucy grabbed its handle, her broken bones mending inside her causing her to wince in pain. "What's the matter?" repeated Mrs. ’ Melusine could not regard this view with anything but scepticism. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. Wood, meantime, had not remained idle. The boy doesn't know it, but I dug into his trunk for something to identify him and stumbled upon some manuscripts. "Give me your hand, Poll, to help me through," cried Jack, as he accomplished the operation. Evidently her foresight has saved me a funeral.
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