"I'm afraid, Jack, you'll come to the gallows," observed the smith; "buth if you do, I'll go to Tyburn to see you. Sheppard wildly. He, next, seized the unlucky jailer, and forced him along, while Blueskin expedited his movements by administering a few kicks behind. "He hears me not! he's gone!" she added, as the door was opened and shut with violence; "something tells me I shall never see him again!" When her father, a moment afterwards, issued from the parlour to ascertain the cause of the noise, he found her seated on the stairs, in an agony of grief. Before any assistance could be rendered by the jailers, who stood astounded, Blueskin had got Wild in his clutches. Their faces were masks of abject horror, sunken and shriveled, their cheekbones protruding. She herself, and one other there, recognized the interposition of something akin to tragedy.
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