Checking an ominous cough, that, ever and anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate. "Red apples and snow!" she sent back at him, her face suddenly transfixed by some inner glory. There is scarcely one chance in a dozen of saving his life; there would be none at all if he were moved. "Your business, Sir?" returned the other, stiffly. In the interim, Jack advanced to the woollen-draper, and regarding him sternly, thus addressed him: "You have violated the laws of hospitality, Mr. “I fail to see the joke,” Sir John said.
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