In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him. "Once in this chair, yer hon'r, and I'll warrant he'll not get out so aisily as Jack Sheppard did from the New Pris'n. But not a word to him of Lady Trafford's absence—mind that. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. ” He smiled at her.
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