Were I not Jonathan Wild, I'd be Jack Sheppard. He had not to wait long. " This business over, she returned to the bedside with the key. There sat Jack, evidently in the last stage of intoxication, with his collar opened, his dress disarranged, a pipe in his mouth, a bowl of punch and a halfemptied rummer before him,—there he sat, receiving and returning, or rather attempting to return,—for he was almost past consciousness,—the blandishments of a couple of females, one of whom had passed her arm round his neck, while the other leaned over the back of his chair and appeared from her gestures to be whispering soft nonsense into his ear. Nothing disheartened by this survey, Jack set to work upon the lock, which he attacked with all his implements;—now attempting to pick it with the nail;— now to wrench it off with the bar: but all without effect. He got up. ” “You came to tell me this?” “I came for you,” he declared fiercely. You belong to me, and I have waited long enough. I sent a message straight. Is all your house on the same scale of magnificence as this, Annabel?” she asked, looking round.
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