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. Gold-handled, too. "You don't recollect me, I presume?" premised the stranger, taking a seat. He kissed her at the door. ’ A sudden clatter of booted feet sounded in the hall beyond. Nothing at all. They had heard nothing, seen nothing. It is no good waiving the thing; it is true. I keep my finger on the pulse of things. The young man was mollified by her sympathy, and flattered by the obvious attempts of several of the other guests to draw him into conversation. He yelled to her, asking her if she wished to have a drink with him, which she refused.
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