"Well!" cried Mrs. And as he gave back the portfolio to Sir Rowland he contrived, unobserved, to slip the precious document into his sleeve, and from thence into his pocket. Here Jack Sheppard was unable to repress an exclamation of astonishment. In her case the barrier was not selfishness but the perception that her interest would be misinterpreted, naturally. Wet as he was, he felt if he lay down in the grass, he should perish with cold; while, if he sought a night's lodging in any asylum, his dress, stained with blood and covered with dirt, would infallibly cause him to be secured and delivered into the hands of justice. Sheppard, again arresting his departure. ‘Where the devil have you been?’ ‘Consorting with a nun in the gardens. And, come what will, I'll balk him of the satisfaction of hanging me. At the door to the kitchen, he called out, ‘Pottiswick!’ The old man came out, shoving his chin in the air and glaring.
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