The coach in which the prisoner had been conveyed was already broken to pieces, and the driver was glad to escape with life. He stooped to recover it, and his face was hidden. "Is this Jack Sheppard? Oh, la! I'm undone! We shall all have our throats cut! Oh! oh!" And she rushed, screaming, into the passage where she fell down in a fit. Wood was heard without, angrily demanding admittance. He watched her, savoring her curious attention. He felt that he might soon be separated—perhaps, for ever—from the fond little creature he held in his arms, whom he had always regarded with the warmest fraternal affection, and the thought of how much she would suffer from the separation so sensibly affected him, that he could not help joining in her grief. Her softly intertwined fingers became rigid. He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror.
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