" Sheppard cordially returned the pressure; and, cautioning Thames, "not to let the ruffles drop, or they might tell a tale," began to warble the following fragment of a robber melody:— "Oh! give me a chisel, a knife, or a file, And the dubsmen shall find that I'll do it in style! Tol-de-rol!" "Vot the devil are you about, noisy?" inquired Abraham. He displayed none of the airy optimism of their previous talk over the downland gate. We had such a pride in you, such hope in you. "I am not, by Heaven!" replied Sheppard, firmly. ‘I hope I do not understand you. ‘As for you—’ ‘Do not address me. If Jack Sheppard could behold his mother in this state, he'd have a lesson he'd never forget—ay, and a severer one than even the hangman could read him. She answered him with another kiss, long and deep.
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