"Oh!—to see you thus!" cried Thames, in an agony of affliction. Don’t stand gawping, man. Was it a week ago? No, perhaps more. He grasped Lucilla’s elbow. In after years, some pitying hand supplied the inscription, which ran thus— JACK SHEPPARD THE END. Moments are ages now. Perhaps you’ve heard—?’ Well, you know, he had. The brilliant sunshine poured through the window, effecting an oblong block of mote-swimming light. There was a concerted gasp of shock from both the black-garbed lad and the coachman.
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