ToC In a hollow in the meadows behind the prison whence Jack Sheppard had escaped,—for, at this time, the whole of the now thickly-peopled district north of Clerkenwell Bridewell was open country, stretching out in fertile fields in the direction of Islington—and about a quarter of a mile off, stood a solitary hovel, known as Black Mary's Hole. The walls were of immense thickness; the small windows double-grated and unglazed; the fire-place was without a grate; and a barrack-bed, divided into two compartments, occupied one corner. When sentence was passed there wasn't a dry eye in the court. ‘What?’ ‘Nothing,’ snapped Roding, with an odd look at his bride to be that Gerald could not interpret. “I beg your pardon,” he said, “but you appear to be a fellow countrywoman of mine, and in some distress. “It’s all dirt that washes off, dear, but it’s dirt. I hold a warrant from Mr. The great door of the Stone Hall was thrown open, and the sheriffs, preceded by the javelin-men, entered the room. Turning quickly round, in the hope of discovering the thief, he was no less surprised than distressed—for in spite of his faults, the woollen-draper was a good-natured fellow—to perceive Jack Sheppard in custody.
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