"My portrait!" echoed Jack. "Cease your confounded clutter!" said a young man, whose swarthy visage, seen in the torchlight, struck Wood as being that of a Mulatto. She felt a little ashamed of herself, a bit of a hypocrite. , or that she had a care in the world. As she crossed the square, almost within a stone’s throw of her lodgings, she came face to face with Courtlaw. Twelve years, then, have elapsed since the date of the occurrences detailed in the preceding division of this history. As it was, the mob went on alternately hooting and huzzaing as the names of Wild and Sheppard were pronounced, while some individuals, bolder than the rest, thrust their faces into the coach-window, and assured Jack that he should never be taken to Tyburn.
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