Kneebone, respecting the lawless career of Jack Sheppard, and struck with the probable fate that awaited him, the young man, as he contemplated this scene, fell into a gloomy reverie. There was little fighting spirit here. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. Lord, I am sixty. ‘I dropped the lantern,’ Jack’s muffled voice told her. God! I have cheated myself into a belief that the boy perished! And now my worst fears are realized —he lives!" "As yet," returned Jonathan, with fearful emphasis. While he was thus occupied, he felt a rough grasp upon his arm, and presently afterwards Ben's lips approached close to his ear.
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