The echo of those kindly words seemed still to ring in her ears. He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. Without inquiring into the correctness of the latter part of the story, it may be sufficient to state, that Black Mary was a person in whom Jack Sheppard thought he could confide, and, as Edgeworth Bess was incapable of much further exertion, he determined to leave her in the old woman's care till the following night, while he shifted for himself and fulfilled his design—for, however rash or hazardous a project might be, if once conceived, Jack always executed it,—of visiting Jonathan Wild at his house in the Old Bailey. You can do anything you please. Still he looked hale and hearty, and the country life he led had imparted a ruddier glow to his cheek. He stepped in with a heavy foreboding of calamity. Leaning upon a gate he looked down into the valley.
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