"Mother! dear mother!" cried Jack, folding her to his breast. But—if you are a friend of Mr. Even Ah Cum had resumed his Oriental shell of reserve. To-night the subtle suggestiveness of those few daring lines, fascinating in their very simplicity, the head thrown back, the half-closed eyes—the inner meaning of the great artist seemed to come to him with a rush. His legs were dreadfully swelled; his hands bruised; and his fetters occasioned him intolerable pain. On their return, the jailers raised up Jonathan, who was weltering in his blood, and who appeared to be dying.
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