They did as they had said. Walter Kerr lived in comfort on an annuity which his children allowed him; and his wife, while she partook of it, repented because of her extravagance, and because of her cruelty to those from whose bounty she was now fed. Jacobini went with her husband and her father-in-law to India, where in a few years a happy family gamboled around them, and Francis increased in wealth, but lived a bachelor, and left his property to his sister’s children.
THE DISSOLVED PLEDGE.
“Hold hard!” said the coachman, as he gathered up his reins, and flourished his whip—and away lumbered the heavy afternoon coach, for the South, from the door of the coach office. It was full inside, with only one outside passenger. After it was fairly out of the town, and the road had become comparatively clear of carts and carriages, the coachman, after two or three quiet, reconnoitering glances at the gentleman who occupied the box-seat, tucked the apron comfortably over his knees, and having settled himself to his own satisfaction, began to weary of so long a silence, and endeavoured to break the spell by the novel and interesting remark—“It’s a fine afternoon, sir.”
“Yes.”
A long pause.
“Fine horses these, sir.”
“Yes.”
Another long pause.