"And so you'll turn highwayman, will you, you young dog?" continued the carpenter, cuffing him soundly,—"rob the mails, like Jack Hall, I suppose. I have neither father, mother, brother, sister, nor husband—I have only him. She could not look at him through an interval that seemed to her a vast gulf of time. Seems you were right about Valade. Shotbolt nodded in token of acquiescence, and emitted an odd guttural sound. In after years, some pitying hand supplied the inscription, which ran thus— JACK SHEPPARD THE END.
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