‘Hadn’t meant you to know,’ said the nun gruffly. “And now,” she said, splintering the surviving piece of coal into indignant flame-spurting fragments with one dexterous blow, “what am I to do? “I’m in a hole!—mess is a better word, expresses it better. “Nor am I going to,” she answered, smiling. "What are you waiting for?" asked Jack, impatiently. “Do you know,” she confessed, “I never thought of that?” He looked at her as though doubting even now whether she could possibly be in earnest. " "Never," replied Sheppard bitterly. A fortnight passed, then a month. He smiled. "What has become of Jack Sheppard?" "Devil knows!" answered Quilt; "but I believe he's in the hands of Blueskin, so there's no doubt he'll soon be on the high-road to Tyburn. Their journey had made them indolent, the afternoon was warm, and it seemed impossible to breathe a sweeter air. But his treasured dream lay shattered at his feet. "Hush!" said she, in a low, but agitated voice; "would you earn this purse?" "I've no objection," replied Blueskin, in a tone intended to be gentle, but which sounded like the murmuring whine of a playful bear. ’ ‘Merci,’ she sighed and, surrendering at last to his oft-proffered aid, allowed her head to droop onto his chest.
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