"Jack Sheppard," returned the boy, fixing his eyes upon a portrait of the Earl of Mar. Kneebone, what with flirting with Mrs. Over the mantel, set into an ornately carved panel with fluted columns at each end, was a portrait of a man on horseback. "Is it you?" "It is," replied Sheppard, as he untied the cords. "You're not hurt I hope, Sir Rowland?" inquired this individual. Wood's reception of the widow, who, at that moment, was ushered into the room by Winifred, was not particularly kind and encouraging. When I have traversed the streets a houseless wanderer, driven with curses from every door where I have solicited alms, and with blows from every gateway where I have sought shelter,—when I have crept into some deserted building, and stretched my wearied limbs upon a bulk, in the vain hope of repose,—or, worse than all, when, frenzied with want, I have yielded to horrible temptation, and earned a meal in the only way I could earn one,—when I have felt, at times like these, my heart sink within me, I have drank of this drink, and have at once forgotten my cares, my poverty, my guilt. ’ So that was it. You will do as I say, or—’ ‘Hoy!’ called Trodger from down the hall. ‘And just who is Leonardo?’ ‘How in God’s name should I know?’ demanded Roding irascibly. Imbecile. ‘Move, you. The Night-Cellar. "What would you like most in this world?" he asked.
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