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. “Where is my beautiful wife?” He bellowed from the downstairs. The expression, however, which would chiefly have interested a beholder, was that of settled and profound melancholy. “One can’t tell. "The door's open, and the room empty. "What I said about natural children doesn't apply to you. " "But they are everything to me," cried Jack, stooping to pick them up. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe.
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