"My portrait!" echoed Jack. "But be it as it may, he is now beyond the reach of earthly punishment. Now drop it. He motioned the young man to the rear chair, because at that hour the youth appeared to be a quantity close to zero. But the letter, written in his son’s own hand, and addressed to the Mother Abbess of the Convent of the Sisters of Wisdom near Blaye in the district of Santonge, dated a little over five years previously, exercised a powerful effect upon him. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. She looked 57 forward to when Sebastian visited. "You soon shall," rejoined Sheppard.
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