47 was no more than a sort of railway compartment on the way to that. What has become of the other?" "Why, surely you don't mean Jack Sheppard?" cried the woollen-draper in surprise. Not far from the entrance, on the left, was a sort of screen, or partition-wall, reaching from the floor to the ceiling, formed of thick oaken planks riveted together by iron bolts, and studded with broad-headed nails. There was a moment’s breathless and disappointed silence. ‘I don’t want a list of all the nuns resident in your wretched convent. Is it an old ring?” he asked, returning it.
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