More importantly, she had her wits. Prudence shook her head. She looked more than her sixty odd years, in spite of a still lush head of black hair, streaked with a little grey, which was visible under her cap and of immediate interest to Gerald. On reaching the churchyard, he perceived the melancholy procession descending the hill. "Devilish strange!" thought he, chuckling to himself; "queer business! Capital trick of the cull in the cloak to make another person's brat stand the brunt for his own—capital! ha! ha! Won't do, though. His tone was kind and sympathetic. The Jacobite.
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