"I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. “Get you a cold one?” “No thanks. For what could be more ironical than for Howard Spurlock to see himself grow famous under the name of Taber? The ambrosia of which he had so happily dreamt!—and this gall and wormwood! He stood up and rapped his pipe on the rail. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. She was not afraid exactly, but there was that about her loneliness to-night she distrusted. Bought the freedom of a sing-song girl; and all the while you knew you'd have to tote the girl back. What had happened to it? She had broken it, certainly. Have you brought me a message from my sister? I understood, I believe, that she was seeing you last night. You've heard the news, I suppose?" "That the death warrant's arrived," returned Edgeworth Bess, bursting into a flood of tears; "oh, yes! we've heard it. Before the Monroes I was placed with a single woman, Leslie Cavendish. “Non. Some rustic hand had written upon the door "JACK SHEPPARD'S CAGE;" and upon the wall was affixed a large placard describing his person, and offering a reward for his capture. In the next box hangs the rope by which he suffered.
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