"Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack. Here Jack Sheppard was unable to repress an exclamation of astonishment. They went to the gate and stopped there, gabbed with their men, and didn’t even dismount. This morning his entourage (as he jestingly called it) consisted of the girl, two spinsters (Prudence and Angelina Jedson), prim and doubtful of the world, and the young man who appeared to be considerably the worse for the alcohol he had consumed. Crossing several fields, newly mown, or filled with lines of tedded hay, she arrived, not without great exertion, at the summit of a hill. She seemed to assume that it must certainly be something she had said. The ledge, along which he crawled, was about a foot wide. —I do not congratulate you on your success. But he has never been near her—never.
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