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. "But, pardon my intrusion. ‘That’s what started the fracas,’ Gerald admitted ruefully, nursing his injured hand as he recalled it. " "Whom do you mean?" demanded Jackson. Who’s for a rubber of whist?” Ennison made so many mistakes that he was glad to cut out early in the evening. His gaze drawn, Gerald watched him dip to pick up a crushed square of white linen and a starched object that resembled a helmet. "To him I owe everything," continued the widow, "life itself—nay, more than life,—for without his assistance I should have perished, body and soul. "Had I not been the guilty wretch I am," he cried, bursting into an agony of tears, "she would never have died thus. Gerald instantly took her arm and guided her back to her chair. She had, poor inexperienced fool, given herself away. Part 8 “Why should I ever come back?” she said to herself, as she went down the staircase.
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