‘I thought it must be you,’ cried the woman. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. "Come along, my sly shaver. Sheppard is one, no doubt," observed Mrs. ” He said while grabbing her hands and 229 jerking her to her feet like a puppet, callously. "I'll tell you why," he said. Sheppard," continued Jonathan; "after we've disposed of Thames Darrell, I'll visit her in Bedlam; and, as I understand I form one of her chief terrors, I'll give her such a fright that I'll engage she shan't long survive it. But on Sunday he had been obliged to attend to certain matters for the nuns. .
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