” Part 9 She was sitting brooding over her fire about ten o’clock that night when a sealed and registered envelope was brought up to her. I don’t mind it. This individual apparently met with some impediment to his further progress; for he had not proceeded many steps when he turned suddenly about, and darted up the passage in which Wood stood. He then made a sort of running noose, passed it over her body, and taking firmly hold of the bars, prepared to guide her descent. "What's the matter, father!" continued the new-comer, addressing Wood. Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you—an object of hatred.
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