"There, he's as safe as Jack Sheppard in the Condemned Hould," laughed the man. Spare him!—pity me!" With this she arose, and, taking up the infant, was about to proceed down stairs, when she was alarmed by hearing the street-door opened, and the sound of heavy footsteps entering the house. " "Poor Jack!" sighed Thames. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. She was mentally transported for an instant to the old castle in Herculis. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt.
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