How came you, Sir," he continued, addressing Sheppard, "to venture upon that frame. The occasion of all this confusion and dismay, meanwhile, remained perfectly motionless; his figure erect, and with somewhat of dignity in his demeanour. "It is Sheppard—Jack Sheppard—stop him!" And his shouts were reiterated by the pack of bloodhounds at his heels. He made a note of the idea and stored it away. "I am," replied Jonathan, following him, "and so," he added in an undertone, "are your captors. ‘It is London’s loss, ma’am.
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