“We parted— that night the best of friends. She twisted her fingers tightly. What has become of the other?" "Why, surely you don't mean Jack Sheppard?" cried the woollen-draper in surprise. ‘Dead then, is he?’ ‘If I could say that he is dead, it would give me very much satisfaction. This laughter released something that had been striving for expression—her own natural buoyancy. He returned her to her door at a decent hour, well before 10:00. It did not matter in the least what name the young fellow was travelling under; all James Boyle O'Higgins wanted was the letter H.
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