At length Jack Sheppard observed:—"The coast's clear. But her great-aunt was nodding, as if this was what she had expected. She remained for some seconds crouching at the fender, poker in hand. The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. Tears sprang to her eyes. Jack dropped the knife, and walked sullenly aside. ‘It does not matter, Jacques. Stanley poured wine. "Oh! Jack! Jack!—you little know what a price I've paid for you!" "Well, I'm glad those women are gone," remarked Shotbolt. And she would have to go tomorrow. Do you know, I am beginning to believe that we only exist nowadays by the tolerance of these millionaire tradesmen.
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