One of these, a lady, evidently a confirmed invalid, and attired in deep mourning, reclined upon a sort of couch, or easy chair, set on wheels, with her head supported by cushions, and her feet resting upon a velvet footstool. Thames sprang to his feet, and half drew his sword, while Wood, removing his spectacles to assure himself that his eyes did not deceive him, exclaimed in a tone and with a look that betrayed the extremity of surprise—"Jack Sheppard!" "Jack Sheppard!" echoed the maid. “I don’t see quite what your game is, Vee, but I suppose you’ve got a game on somewhere. "He will be murdered!—Help!" "My child!—my love!" cried Wood, dragging her forcibly back. “You cannot give me ultimatums.
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