" "You are an angel, I say," continued the poor maniac; "and my Jack would have been like you, if he had lived. A queer game this: he could not move directly as in an ordinary case of manhunt. It was a precious thing, a beautiful cabochon—do you know what that is?” “What’s a cabochon?” “It’s a precious jewel that doesn’t have facets yet. ” She assented, smiling. He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips.
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