Sepulchre's clock struck eight. "That's the kinchin as was to try the dub for us, ain't it?" muttered Smith to his companion as he stole a glance at Jack Sheppard. He was the junior of both his sisters, co-educated and much broken in to feminine society. In this state, he was laid upon a bench, to sleep off his drunken fit, while his wretched mother, in spite of her passionate supplications and resistance, was, by Blueskin's command, forcibly ejected from the house, and driven out of the Mint. All these wonderful comrades, henceforth and for ever hers. "A capital instrument for my purpose," thought Jack, shouldering it, "and worth all the trouble I have had in procuring it. But there was no sign from her. Hoddy.
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