" Starting at a rapid pace in the direction of the Old Bailey, and crossing Fleet Bridge, "for oyster tubs renowned," the trio skirted the right bank of the muddy stream until they reached Fleet Lane, up which they hurried. The infant was rescued from a watery-grave by an honest mechanic, who has since brought him up as his own son. “What have you done to yourself?” he muttered. “I wonder which of us is right,” she said. What has become of the other?" "Why, surely you don't mean Jack Sheppard?" cried the woollen-draper in surprise. The cultivated indifference, which was part of the armour of his little world fell away from him. "What do you think of your nephew, Sir Rowland?" whispered Jonathan, who sat with his back towards Thames, so that his features were concealed from the youth's view.
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