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"What are you waiting for?" asked Jack, impatiently. " "Where are you going?" asked his mother. "Something worse, I fear," Wood replied. " "Don't anger him, my dear son," implored the poor widow, with a look of anguish at Jack. Satisfied with his scrutiny, he produced a pocket-flask, and taking off the silver cup with which it was mounted, filled it with the contents of the flask, and then seizing the thin arm of the sleeper, rudely shook it. "Go!" said Lady Trafford; "it is my last request. I admired your chivalry.
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