When he looked up again, his poor vacant brown eyes turned on my aunt, dim with tears.

She instantly shook off the superintendent's hold on her arm.

Before it was possible to interfere, she was bending over Jack Straw, with one of her pretty white hands laid gently on his head.
"How your head burns, poor Jack!" she said simply.

"Does my hand cool it ?" Still holding desperately by the chain, he answered like a timid child.
"Yes, Mistress; your hand cools it.

Thank you." She took up a little straw hat on which he had been working when his door was opened.