As they neared the house, Jack Sheppard, who led the way, halted and addressed his companion in a low voice:— "I don't half like this job, Blueskin," he said; "it always went against the grain. Oh! and love—love! We’ve had so splendid a time, and fought our fight and won. I might as well be at Morningside Park. Refused admittance, they broke open the door. The cell in which she was confined was about six feet long and four wide; the walls were scored all over with fantastic designs, snatches of poetry, short sentences and names,—the work of its former occupants, and of its present inmate. He had scarcely completed his toilet, when he was startled by a noise at the door, and heard his own name pronounced in no friendly accents. “John, don’t!” she cried. “Quite alone, sir. ” 243 She felt a mixture of embarrassment, humiliation, and pride well up in her cheeks, flushing them.
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