A young man —almost a boy, slight, dark, and with his brother’s deep grey eyes—came across the room to her. Thames sprang to his feet, and half drew his sword, while Wood, removing his spectacles to assure himself that his eyes did not deceive him, exclaimed in a tone and with a look that betrayed the extremity of surprise—"Jack Sheppard!" "Jack Sheppard!" echoed the maid. His fellow-prisoners nicknamed him the gallows-provider, from a habit he had of picking out all those who were destined to the gibbet. " "We may believe as much of that as we please, I suppose," observed the carpenter's wife, with a sneer. I hoped for a family like the Becks and I waded through the system until I got them, so maybe life isn’t so damn hopeless after all. Kneebone, who had drained his glass to the restoration of the house of Stuart, and the downfall of the house of Hanover, more frequently than was consistent with prudence, consented; and the trio set out for Wych Street, where they arrived in the jolliest humour possible.
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