"The traps!" responded a bystander. The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica. "You've charged with assisting your comrade, Jack Sheppard, to purloin certain articles of value from a jewel-case belonging to Lady Trafford. Perhaps it had been pick-pocketed or jostled from her dress in a hunt. In one grave, mind. Earles answered, glibly. She could not see what occurred, though she guessed it; but she saw Jonathan's devilish triumphing glance, and read in it,—"Your son has committed a robbery—here—in these holy walls—he is mine—mine for ever!" She uttered a loud scream, and fainted. This one was Henry Esmond, that one the melancholy Marius, and so forth and so on; never any villains. She looked at her flattened belly.
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