I'll call it my wedding gift. Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. Pitt?" "There is no mistake, Sir," rejoined the prisoner, drawing himself up, "I am Jack Sheppard. I walked London till the soles of my shoes were worn through, and my toes were blistered. “Why—it’s—it’s you!” Amazement seemed to dry up the torrents of his speech. My only love is for my poor lost son. Those who had seen him slumbering, averred that he slept with his eyes open. ‘I’ll get the key,’ said Roding, turning abruptly.
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