In after years, some pitying hand supplied the inscription, which ran thus— JACK SHEPPARD THE END. “Don’t you know?” “Oh! I know—” “Well—” Her face was an unaccustomed pink. ‘You said?’ ‘Mrs Sindlesham, your great-aunt, miss. "Oh, lud! what's that?" exclaimed a female voice, from an adjoining room. "I told you I was not unprotected. I wonder if I should have locked you up if I’d been your father. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. I will do all this not because I love you, but—because you are Anna’s sister. CHAPTER XX. He had been gone entirely one day, for yesterday afternoon he had departed from Remenham House, and she had waited with patience like a saint, and now it was again the afternoon.
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