What in the world was the wench up to now? For it must be she. "To be sure, it's not surprising the poor little thing should be so marked; for, when I lay in the women-felons' ward in Newgate, where he first saw the light, or at least such light as ever finds entrance into that gloomy place, I had nothing, whether sleeping or waking, but halters, and gibbets, and coffins, and such like horrible visions, for ever dancing round me! And then, you know, Sir—but, perhaps, you don't know that little Jack was born, a month before his time, on the very day his poor father suffered. "Who, then?" demanded Jack. ‘You wish a reason for jealousy? Eh bien, you may have it. Best assured of that. Listen, Jack. Perhaps I ought not to; but this isn't a case to fiddle-faddle over. ‘I thought, you see, that we might as well enter by the same way our intruder had done. "So much the better," rejoined Sir Rowland.
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