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Heedless, however, of the consequences, he pursued his task. At the precise period of this history, the Jacobite party was full of hope and confidence. Melusine—the real Melusine—would never have made such a stupid mistake. It was his mother, and as he gazed on her pallid features and motionless frame, Jack's heart severely smote him. "Don't weep, my love," replied the lady, straining him still more closely to her. Beyond was a chaise longue, covered with cushions and shawls laid anyhow across it, together with a discarded tapestry in the making, and a scattering of woollen threads about it. A tarnish of constraint that had recently spread over her intercourse with Capes vanished again.
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