As they neared the house, Jack Sheppard, who led the way, halted and addressed his companion in a low voice:— "I don't half like this job, Blueskin," he said; "it always went against the grain. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. However, I'll make a last effort to save the poor little creature, if it costs me my life. At one moment, it seemed as if the flying bark was about to put to shore. We had no idea. “That is my dream of you,” said Manning, warming.
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