"Whose child can this be?" "How the devil should I know!" replied Jonathan gruffly. Looked like them statues of the Holy Mother I see about the place. "Can't you guess?" returned Winifred, throwing her arms about her neck. Confidence in himself would strengthen him. "Hark 'ee, Ben," said the old sailor, knocking the ashes from his pipe upon the hob; "you may try, but dash my timbers if you'll ever cross the Thames to-night. Somehow to-night—I don’t know. “It’s bound to be all right,” she said. Her prevailing effect was one of quiet and complete assurance, as though she knew all about everything, and was only restrained by her instinctive delicacy from telling what she knew.
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