She could learn nothing of her son, and only obtained one solitary piece of information, which added to, rather than alleviated her misery,—namely, that Jonathan Wild had paid a secret visit to the Cross Shovels. ToC Jack Sheppard's first object was to free himself from his handcuffs. Sheppard, so that if the blow had been stricken she must have received it. “You really couldn’t ride in it,” he said, deprecatingly. He was leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation.
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