"Some dreadful deed is about to be committed, which I may perhaps prevent," muttered Jack to himself. Stanley regarded him through his glasses with something approaching animosity. At any rate, it would be good to hear him saying the sort of things he did—perhaps now she would grasp them better—with this world-shaking secret brandishing itself about inside her head within a yard of him. Somebody to depend upon her; somebody to have need of her, if only for a little while. He was unaware that his illness had opened the way to the inherent conscience and that the acquired had been temporarily blanketed, or that there was any ancient fanaticalism in his blood. "By my soul," said the sexton, "that's as like Jack Sheppard as any one I ever seed i' my born days. . October arrived; and in another week the court would be sitting at the Old Bailey. . ’ ‘Sport!’ grumbled her betrothed, but he accompanied them across the ballroom all the same.
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