The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. As they neared the house, Jack Sheppard, who led the way, halted and addressed his companion in a low voice:— "I don't half like this job, Blueskin," he said; "it always went against the grain. "Mr. You were never married at all. "Is your master at home?" inquired the jailer. " "Bring him here,—let me see him—let me embrace him—let me be assured that he is safe, and I am yours. “Well?” he asked her tersely. " "And I will, if I can, depend upon it," answered Sheppard, with a laugh. "I won't trouble you further, Jack," he remarked.
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