ToC In a hollow in the meadows behind the prison whence Jack Sheppard had escaped,—for, at this time, the whole of the now thickly-peopled district north of Clerkenwell Bridewell was open country, stretching out in fertile fields in the direction of Islington—and about a quarter of a mile off, stood a solitary hovel, known as Black Mary's Hole. The note-passer lagged behind with her. She had looked up from her seat at the small round table in the centre of the parlour which, together with the wooden armchairs beside the small fireplace, and a sideboard next the single casement, was all the furniture the place afforded. “It’s Kitty’s idea,” said one, “we are to go in the vans. “I had a dream in the night,” she said. ” “H’m!” said Ann Veronica, and shook her head. “A ballot-box, you know,” he said, “is very largely just a box. And if the woman is not a rival, she must be—yes, that must be it.
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