"But what is an oath to you!" cried the widow, distrustfully. Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you—an object of hatred. " "Zounds!" exclaimed Wood; "it's my old master-key. He hated travelling second-class with her—indeed, he never did—but he also disliked travelling in the same train when his daughter was in an inferior class, because of the look of the thing. And from then on we'll see them, port and starboard, to the end of the voyage. Besides, she had admitted her identity. Probably he will come around to-morrow and begin all over again. The gallows is in view—I see it with all its hideous apparatus!—ough!" and shuddering violently, she placed her hands before her, as if to exclude some frightful vision from her sight.
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