***** October. "So did I," answered Jack; "we had better move on. Pitt?" "There is no mistake, Sir," rejoined the prisoner, drawing himself up, "I am Jack Sheppard. By many a highwayman many a draught Of nutty-brown ale at Saint Giles's was quaft, Until the old lazar-house chanced to fall down, And the broad-bottom'd bowl was removed to the Crown. I was forced to lay on a bed of nails for three days. . "What a very remarkable thing it is," he observed, applying to his snuff-box, "that Thames Darrell, whom we all supposed dead,"—Kneebone in his heart sincerely wished he had been so,—"should turn out to be alive after all. "A sail?" said McClintock. This was his sister, evidently in the last extremity. " "How did you escape?" asked Sheppard, who, as he shook off his slumber, began to recall the events of the previous night.
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