He might solve the riddle. He reached the top floor and ran down the corridor to the little dressing room at the end where he had lost her before. While he was meditating flight in this way, and tossing about on the straw, he chanced upon an old broken and rusty fork. Their journey had made them indolent, the afternoon was warm, and it seemed impossible to breathe a sweeter air. Never had her father explained. Some rustic hand had written upon the door "JACK SHEPPARD'S CAGE;" and upon the wall was affixed a large placard describing his person, and offering a reward for his capture. ” “That is another French custom,” he remarked, “which is not so agreeable. . She was still fully dressed; so all she had to do was to pause before the mirror and give her hair a few pats.
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