In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him. They send you every good wish. You must think it over. He seemed to know a great deal about life. Wood, who had been absent on business during the greater part of the day, returned (perhaps not altogether undesignedly) at an earlier hour than was expected, to his dwelling in Wych Street, Drury Lane; and was about to enter his workshop, when, not hearing any sound of labour issue from within, he began to suspect that an apprentice, of whose habits of industry he entertained some doubt, was neglecting his employment. Thinking of Mantua, she wandered to the courtyard.
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