There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. Excited by the scene, Jack, however, could pay little attention to the good man's discourse, and was lost in a whirl of tumultuous emotions. A ball from Wild's pistol passed through his heart, and a volley of musketry poured from the guards lodged several balls in the yet breathing body of his leader. But it was extraordinary what seemingly irrelevant things could restore her to the thought of Capes again. The windows were small, and strongly grated, looking, in front, on Kendrick Yard, and, at the back, upon the spacious burial-ground of Saint Giles's Church. "Ah!" she screamed, seeing the uplifted weapon in Sheppard's hand, "don't hurt Thames—don't, dear Jack! If you want to kill somebody, kill me, not him. She interrupted. " "But I'm used to that, Hoddy," she said, eagerly.
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