"Ah! but," said I, "there's a great deal in being hanged. At this juncture, and just as a cuckoo-clock in the corner struck sis, Jack Sheppard walked into the room, with the packing-case under his arm. There were one or two bitter moments in his life when he had been made to feel that gentility laid on with a brush may sometimes crack and show weak places—that deportment and breeding are after all things apart. In the centre of the upper gallery was a spacious saloon, appropriated to the governors of the asylum. He eyed the young couple with the tragic history behind them, and could only suppose that familiarity had dulled their senses. Let me only wear your livery.
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