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. ‘Do not beg my pardon. As she did so, the ruffles to the jacket of her riding habit fell away, exposing livid blue bruises about her wrist, ugly in the light of day from the window at their back. The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold. "My heart," rejoined Thames, firmly; "which now tells me I am in the presence of his murderer.
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